


A Change is Gonna Come - Part Three: Edge of Darkness

by Emi_theSassiestSousa



Series: A Change is Gonna Come [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Also I specifically told you this farm was disturbing, Angst, Assault Discussed, Bisexual Characters, Character Drama, Dean's excellent handling of emotions, Eldritch Monstrosity Bunker, F/M, Holy Shit the warning Tags for this guys- okay here we go, I am horrified at my own mind for coming up with this stuff I swear, Look guys I'm sorry- this gets worse before it gets better, M/M, PTSD Discussed, Possible Panic-Attack Triggers, Religious Crisis, Sammy Knows but Sammy Doesn't Know, Sexual Assault Discussed, Suicide and Suicidal Tendencies Discussed, Team Free Will is basically Team Functioning Alcoholics at this point, There is no One True Survivor Narrative, Violent flashbacks, Where's The Angel? Oh there he is., Yes I said happiness, but there is 'better' this time I promise, emotional journeys, happiness, nobody knows anything, non-binary character(s), oh yes and, sexual orientation crisis, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emi_theSassiestSousa/pseuds/Emi_theSassiestSousa
Summary: Things weren’t going well.Donatello was now… in a hospital. Permanently.There was no longer a TV for the Dean Cave. The Fortress of Dean-itude. Still not sure about that.Cas was off on his own. Again.They did have the Blood of a Holy Man, so that was good. And Fruit from the Tree of Life, very good.But now…Now he had a new problem.“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot! I come in peace!Parlay!”Ketch was standing in his bunker.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> -Beta'd by the always amazing [UnfortunatelyObsessed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnfortunatelyObsessed/). Be sure to check out their work as well, it's some great stuff!
> 
> Alright, guys, things are gonna happen a bit out of order from canon here: 13x17 hasn't happened yet, the boys haven't been to Rhode Island, and they don't have the Seal of Solomon. 13x14, 15, and 16 _have_ happened, though.
> 
>    
> Looks like shorter notes on this one, all the warnings are already up in the tags, so here we go! I present to you, Part 3: Edge of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A Change is Gonna Come - Lyrics Excerpt}  
>  _...Well, I go down to my brother,_  
>  _And I say,_  
>  _Brother, help me breathe,_  
>  _But he winds up,_  
>  _Knocking me back down,_  
>  _On my knees, yeah..._
> 
> {[Edge of Darkness](https://open.spotify.com/track/4rhUBIlzi7zgV7TryhVujl?si=-XsV4ArbRfSR4_PpjIlAMw)}  
>  _Every day's a new day,_  
>  _Every way's a new way,_  
>  _On the edge of darkness,_  
>  _Finding out what it means to love,_  
>  _And to think we've found the time,_
> 
>  
> 
> _All my brothers we stand,_  
>  _For the peace of the land,_  
>  _Is there meaning?_  
>  _I've got love in my heart,_  
>  _For an army apart,_  
>  _I am bleeding..._
> 
>  
> 
> _...Always searching for love,_  
>  _Always searching for light,_  
>  _What the world is made of,_  
>  _When I'm thinking it's right,_  
>  _And to think we've found the time,_ <
> 
>  
> 
> _All my brothers we stand,_  
>  _For the peace of the land,_  
>  _Is there meaning?_  
>  _I've got love in my heart,_  
>  _For an army apart,_  
>  _I am bleeding..._

Things weren’t going well.

Donatello was now… in a hospital. Permanently.

There was no longer a TV for the Dean Cave. Fortress of Dean-itude. Still not sure about that.

Cas was off on his own. Again.

They did manage to get the Blood of a Holy Man, so that was good. And Fruit from the Tree of Life, very good.

But now…

Now Dean had a new problem...

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot! I come in peace! _Parlay!_ ”

...now Ketch was standing in his bunker.

“Why the fuck shouldn’t I shoot you?” Dean snapped, his gun raised alongside Sam’s.

“I have information! Information you desperately want,” Ketch said in a rush, shaking his empty palms at them.

“Yeah?" said Dean. "Alright, talk.”

“...And you won’t kill me?”

“Yeah, I ain’t promisin’ you shit.”

Ketch sighed and rolled his eyes.

Dean just hardened his glare. “Spill.”

Ketch drew himself a little taller. “In exchange for asylum," he said.

“What?”

“I'm offering you information, in exchange for refuge.”

“You're offering me information in exchange for me not _shooting_ you—"

“What are you running from?” said Sam.

Dean’s lip curled.

Ketch’s eyes darted between them. “Asmodeus," he said.

They both narrowed their eyes at him.

“I saw things I shouldn't," Ketch explained. "Made some regrettable enemies. And _this_ is the safest place on the continent. So I'm offering you information in exchange for ref—”

“Heard you the first time,” said Dean.

Ketch pursed his lips.

Sam looked him up and down. "What kind of information?” he asked.

Ketch glanced between them again. They could clearly see the gears turning, options being weighed.

“You need archangel grace," he finally said. "And I know where to get it.”

“Of course you do,” Dean nodded sarcastically.

“So, asylum?” Ketch tried.

“No, you know what, why the _hell_ should we believe a single thing you say?” Dean burst, jabbing with his gun and shifting his weight. “Last time we saw you, you were _happy_ to tell us you work for Asmodeus. This could be one of his shitty-ass plans.”

“Please,” Ketch rolled his eyes again, “this is _far_ too convoluted for him to think up. I _worked_ for Asmodeus, but that contract has been breached— far too literally I might add— and I now come humbly to you, seeking as—”

“I heard you the first five times,” Dean growled through gritted teeth.

Ketch grimaced. “...in exchange for that information and whatever else I can offer.”

“Whatever else?” said Sam.

“Oh you're not seriously considering this,” Dean snapped.

“Well I have been told I'm a bit of a cute hoor.”

Both Dean and Ketch slowly raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s— nevermind.” He turned his attention back to Ketch. “Look, you've got to give us something more concrete than that. Something that shows us you're not here to trick us.”

Ketch looked between Sam and Dean once more. He locked eyes with Sam and slowly said, “I'm going to put my hand in my right pocket.”

Sam nodded.

Ketch gingerly reached into the right pocket of his jacket and produced a familiar-looking syringe and a vial, coated in the remnants of a glowing residue.

“Asmodeus has the Archangel Gabriel held captive in Hell.”

Sam and Dean stared at the vial.

“He’s dead,” Sam said.

“Or is he?” Dean corrected.

“Um, he’s not.” Ketch raised an eyebrow at them.

Dean glared at the syringe and the vial. He huffed through his teeth and grumbled, “Alright, you watch him. I’m gonna make a call.”

Sam nodded and adjusted his position, gun still trained on Ketch.

Dean slowly backed away, only lowering his own gun once he got around the corner. He pulled out his phone and reluctantly dialed.

It picked up on the second ring.

“ _It’s been ages since you called._ ”

“I don’t have time for an argument, Crowley, is the Archangel Gabriel in Hell?”

“ _Oh, I’m doing fine, thank you, how are you?_ ”

“Crowley.”

“ _How would I know that, I’m not even in Hell. And you know that. Or have you stopped listening to me again? Though I suppose you never really started— _”

“Crowley!”

“ _All I do is give and give in this relationship, it’s starting to feel very one-sided. I mean really, what about me? What about my needs?_ ”

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want?”

“ _I— I beg your pardon?_ ”

“ _What_ do you _want?_ ”

The other end of the line went silent.

“Crowley?”

“ _Are you telling me I went through all that shit for you and Moose and all I had to do was withhold a little information?_ ”

“I’m hanging up.”

“ _Stop. I’ll tell you what I want later. Having you in my acknowledged debt is almost a reward in itself._ ”

Dean sighed again. This was definitely gonna come back to bite him in the ass. “Is the Archangel Gabriel in Hell?” he asked again.

 _“Hm? Oh. Ye_ _ah. Has been for months._ ”

“ _What?_ Why didn’t you tell us?”

“ _Well let’s see: a) I was dead, b) I was rather_ _annoyed with you, and c) you never asked. _ ”

“Whatever. Thanks.”

“ _A ‘thank you’? Is it my re-birthday?_ ”

“Okay, see, you've already used that joke and now I am hanging up.”

Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket and returned to Sam and Ketch. “Well, his story checks out.”

Ketch stared at him. “Who on _earth_ could you call that could corroborate that?”

“Not sure they’re on Earth, and I’m definitely not telling you.”

Ketch rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“So our next move is obvious,” Sam said, holstering his gun. “We need to get Gabriel out of Hell.”

“Oh no, not we, I’m absolutely not going back there.” Ketch pulled out a chair at the map table and sat in it resolutely, setting the syringe and vial on the table.

“Yeah, because _we_ want to go back there," said Dean.

“Well, why not just send your angel?” 

Dean slammed a hand on the table, leaning well over Ketch, “Alright, you smarmy dick,” he growled, _“first_ of all, he’s not ‘our’ angel. We're not ‘sending’ him anywhere.”

Ketch nodded, tight-lipped and slightly wide-eyed. “Duly noted.”

“And _second,_ he’s not coming with, anyway.”

“What?” said Sam. He glanced over at Ketch, “Could you give us a minute?”

“Oh, of course, please,” Ketch said with a gesture at the doorway.

Sam took Dean by the arm and led him out of the map room to the library, only speaking when they were well out of earshot. “What the hell do you mean we’re not bringing Cas?”

“Can’t bring someone who’s not here, Sam.”

“So we’ll wait for him, Dean.”

“Why? He doesn’t wait for us.”

Sam dropped his head to the side with a heavy glare. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Dean huffed sharply, running a hand roughly through his hair.

“We should at least talk about this with Cas,” Sam continued. “This is big.”

"There's no point—"

"Why not?"

“Because— Because I’m not bringing him to another _fucking_ plane of existence, alright? We can do this. In and out, just like the selkies.”

“We _absolutely_ needed Cas’s help to save the selkies.”

Dean shifted his weight to the other foot. “Okay, then, just like the Holy Blood.”

“Are you serious? That was the messiest case we've worked in years! It would have been a _hundred_ times better with Cas!”

Dean grimaced. “Okay, but—”

“Right now, we don’t even know how we’re going to get into Hell again; the Reapers sure won't want to deal with us after what happened to the last one who got us in, but Cas probably knows a way, heck he might even be the only one who can go.” Sam looked pleadingly at Dean, ”Look, we need to at least talk to him. We're not going to make stupid decisions just because you're pissed at him for some reason.”

“I'm not—!”

“I don't care what you're about to call it,” Sam held up a hand, ”and I don’t want to get involved in it. So we'll wait for Cas and see what else Ketch has to offer.”

“Oh, so he shows up with a present and now you trust him?” 

“Oh my g— Of _course_ not, Dean! We're going to use him and then we'll kill him. For real this time.”

Dean ran a hand over his mouth and scowled.

Sam sighed. “Look, it's late, let’s just sleep on it, alright?”

“Do I _look_ like I’m about to drop off to sleep?” Dean snapped. Then he winced, “Sorry.”

Sam just sighed louder. “No, you don’t look like you could sleep, Dean,” he had to answer.

Dean bit his lip and stole a glance at the amulet around Sam’s neck, sitting on top of his shirts as always. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “What?” he asked reluctantly.

Dean snorted despite himself. “I still can’t believe you told that mob boss his decór was tacky.”

“I had to, Dean, he asked if I liked it!” Sam whined.

Dean bit his cheek in an effort to control his smirk. He utterly failed. “We should have gotten you that thing years ago.” 

“Fuck you,” Sam said, pointing in his face as he moved past him.

Dean just smiled after him. “I’m gonna call Crowley again, see if he can get us into Hell.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Sam waved him off and went to rejoin Ketch.

Ketch was literally twiddling his thumbs when Sam returned. “Oh, good. Have we reached a consensus?” he asked.

“We’ll talk about it more in the morning," Sam answered, "come on, there’s plenty of spare rooms.”

Ketch grinned as he stood from his chair. “Ah, if we can find them, right?” 

“What?”

“You know,” Ketch made a vague gesture, “because the rooms move around?”

“How did you know about that?” Sam asked as he took them toward the hallway that usually led to the bedrooms.

“Well I’m tempted to say: ‘I’m definitely not telling you that’,” he droned, imitating Dean’s accent through a scowl, “but the truth is all of the Men of Letters facilities are like this. You get this much magic in one place and really anything can happen.”

Sam ticked his head to the side, “Huh," and led Ketch down the hall.

“So,” Sam started as he opened a door, hoping it was still the supply closet. Fortunately, it was. “So no matter what we decide here, you’re not going to help get Gabriel out?”

“Oh I’ll gladly help,” Ketch corrected. “I’ll gladly help you with almost anything in exchange for refuge. I’m just not going back there. And ideally, not out of _here_ at all.” 

Sam considered that as he pulled some bedsheets from the closet and handed them over. “Anything?” he asked.

“Almost anything," answered Ketch.

Sam couldn't help that his mouth twitched with a smile. “How are you at forging documents?”

 

———

 

Crowley sat at a table, looking down at his phone.

“And three... two... one…”

The phone rang.

He smirked, and picked it up. “Yes?” he answered.

_“We need to get into Hell.”_

———

_“You only call when you need something.”_

Dean rolled his eyes, “Can you get us in or not?

_“Of course I can.”_

Dean turned on the spot, looking around. Usually this was when Crowley did his best to give him a heart attack. “...But?”

_“ But I’m a smidge busy right now.” _

“With what?”

 _“Tch. Please._ ”

Crowley hung up.

Dean drew back from the phone, giving it an incredulous scowl.

"Well fuck you, too," he said, and stalked off toward his room.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day was as boring as the last had been crazy.

Cas still hadn’t called. Crowley still hadn’t called. Sam was up to his ears in files and paperwork— and that was saying something, dude had high ears. Ketch, who could _apparently_ be trusted with this shit now, was running back and forth from a computer to a printer, muttering about holograms and bindings. The two of them kept geeking out about the bunker’s “Eldritch Charm,” whatever the hell that meant. And to top it all off, they hadn’t had a new case in weeks.

So as it ended up, all Dean did that day was go through the archives— again— to try to find a lead on the Seal of Solomon. After hours and hours of futility, as he left the basement for the night, he solidly decided that if he never had to read another set of procedural minutes in his life, he would die a happy man.

With one more long, boring day over in what felt like a month of long, boring days, he flopped onto the welcoming comfort of his bed. He moved to sit against the headboard, pulling his computer from his nightstand into his lap and opening up the folder tucked away in one corner of the desktop.

Not really knowing what he was in the mood for tonight, he scrolled down the long list of his extensive collection:

-Babysitter

-Beach

-Bisexual

-Blonde

He stopped.

_...you know that’s a thing outside of porn, right?_

Dean huffed. Of course he did, _Sam._

He opened up a browser window.

> _bisexual_

Google provided a definition right at the top of the page: _Adjective - Sexually attracted to both men and women._

Dean rolled his eyes. Yes, thank you, very helpful, Google.

The Wikipedia article was next: _Bisexuality is romantic attraction, sexual attraction, or sexual behavior to people of any sex or gender identity._

Dean shrugged. That was a little better.

The next articles all said the same thing, offering no further insight.

 _"Pff,_ fine," he scoffed. He scrolled back to the top and tried again.

> _how do people know theyre bisexual_

“10 Signs You Might Be Bisexual!” the first result cheerfully shouted at him.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Click-bait-y, but fine."

“ _It’s normal to have questions about your sexuality as you get older..._ ” the article began.

Dean just rolled his eyes again. That was so not what this was. He was just curious. Satisfying an itch. You know, the thing the internet was made for?

“... _It’s not definitive, but you might try out the[Kinsey Test](https://psymed.info/kinsey-scale-test)_ _. Remember, this is just to help point you in the right direction!”_

There we go, see? More itch-scratching.

He clicked the link, and read:

__1\. My sexual fantasies are about..._ _

Dean sighed at the ceiling. This was probably stupid. But hey, he was bored, so he clicked and he scrolled...

Only six questions long? Yeah, this was gonna be stupid.

_See Your Result_

Dean scrolled straight past the ad that popped up on the next page, grumbling to himself about damned quiz websites, putting the answers so low you had to—

 

3

 

Dean stared at the screen.

 

3

 

...What?

What does that mean?

 

3

 

No-no-no, what?

 

3

 

Dean scoured the accompanying article:

“ _From 0-6, with one being straight and six being homosexual, the Kinsey scale attempts to…_ ”

Yeah, sure, great, but what the fuck is three?

 

“... _a score of three indicates possible bi- or pan-sexuality._ ”

 

3

 

What?

 

3

 

That can’t—

 

3

 

No, he—!

 

_Hey, remember back when you thought Han Solo was the best? Like, The Best?_

Dh- uh— What?

3

_Remember when you thought Fred looked better without that ascot?_

What? No, that wasn’t—

3

_Hey, remember thinking you’d really like to kiss James Dean’s perfect-looking lips? _

What!?

3

_Remember wanting to take Doc Holliday by the collar and just—_

**thud thud thud**

The headboard smacked against the wall with his violent jolt.

“Hey, I think I’ve got something!” Sam shouted from the other side of his door.

“O- _kay—_ ” Dean’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Okay!”

He tossed his laptop aside and leapt out of the bed, frantically looking around for his pants. They were sitting at the end of his bed. Like always.

It built up slowly. So slowly he didn’t notice it creeping in until it was all he could hear:

_...I might be bi, I might be bi, I might be bi, I might be bi, I might be bi_

He found his pants.

_I might be bi, I might be bi, I might be bi_

He left his bedroom.

_I might be bi, I might be bi, I might be bi_

He headed for the library.

_I might be bi, I might be bi, I might be bi—_

_Hey, remember that one cute little guy? With the beard, what was his name? Aaron? He was sweet_

No, he was annoying

_Remember that time you met Eliot Ness? That sure was some interesting hammering going on in your heart_

I— That wasn't—

_Remember how much you used to love flirting with cops? The uniforms and the manhandling—_

What? No, no, that was just—

 _Remember all those sailors on that submarine? Boy_ _those_ _uniforms were somethin’, huh?_

Fuck... Fuck, fuck, _f_ _uck—_

Sam was standing over the library table amongst his mountains of files. He looked up as Dean came in.

“Hey, so get this,” Sam gestured to the papers in front of him, “I _think_ I have a lead on the…” ... _I might be bi, I might be bi, I might be bi, I might be bi—_

“Hey.”

Dean jumped.

“Did you hear me?”

“Um, no. No, I— I didn’t. Sorry.” Dean waved a hand near his head. “Tired. Just, um—” He swallowed. "Tired.”

“Right,” Sam chuffed. “So, I was saying we might be able to find the Seal of Solomon in…” ... _I might be bi, I might be bi, I might be bi, I might be bi_

_Hey, remember how mad Dad got when you mentioned how much you liked Tommy Smith in, like, third grade?_

Uh— Yeah. He was... fuckin' pissed

_Remember that siren? It showed up for you as a dude?_

Huh. Yeah, okay, that was weird

_Remember all that shit that happened with Crowley?_

Hey, whoa there, I was a fuckin’ demon then

_Fair enough. How about Dr. Sexy?_

Oh my god _I think I’m bi, I think I’m bi, I think I’m bi—_

“Dude.”

Dean jolted again.

“Hey, what’s up with you? I’m talking about an ingredient for the portal, here.”

“Right. Sorry. Sorry, just— let’s do this quick. I was, uh… sleeping.”

“Right.” Sam raised an eyebrow at him. ”Okay. So I’m _trying_ to say, that the Seal of Solomon might be in a capitulum, an old Men of Letters chapter house, out in Portsmouth, Rhode Island. They mentioned it in this report back in 1917 and—”

“Rhode Island! Great.” Dean started to back away from the table. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “Great, yeah! Could we— talk about this in the morning? I’m just… _really_ tired.”

Sam looked him up and down, eyebrow rising even higher. “Yeah, I guess. Sure.”

The words were barely out of Sam's mouth before Dean spun around and did his best not to run to his room. He probably closed the door a little too hard, though.

_I think I’m bi, I think I’m bi,  think I’m bi, I think I’m bi_

Holy shit. He needed to talk to someone. He needed to tell someone. He needed to ask someone… something.

This was crazy. This had to be a mistake. Everybody thinks about Doc Holliday like that, right?

Who the fuck was he going to talk to about this sort of thing anyway? Not like he knew anyone that could—

 

Charlie.

 

He froze mid-step in the pacing he'd started, suddenly sinking in a realm beyond guilt.

Charlie would know what to say. Charlie would know what was happening. Charlie would know if he was just making this up.

His heart raced. His breath came in gasps.

Charlie could have helped.

God _damn— everything—_  He just— _Everything._ He wanted to— to just _throw_ something, but— But he was just standing here in the middle of his room, and there wasn't anything nearby. He could only just— just grab at his hair and tug and _tug_ until he couldn’t feel the turn of his stomach, the clench in his chest—

He fell back onto his bed, covering his face in his hands. For the first time since May, hot tears breached their dam, and slipped through his hair into the sheets.

 

———

 

Sam watched as Dean blatantly tried not to run back down the hallway, ending with a slam from his door.

He pushed a rising worry aside. Dean was probably fine. Probably just... moody. Maybe he's been watching porn or something.

Sam winced, _Oh— Yugh._

He returned to the files in front of him, stacks of paper representing days worth of solid, uninterrupted work. He pulled a well-marked map over to himself, already considering where the Men of Letters might have hidden the Seal inside this capitulum—

Sam’s phone rang, rattling across the table. He picked it up, and checked the ID.

It was Direl. Of course. He probably wanted to talk about how the passports were coming. Finally, Sam could give him some good news.

“Hello?” he said. 

“... _Hi, Sam.”_

His heart skipped a beat.

Bris.

“Hey! Hey, um, hi.” He popped up straight and leaned nonchalantly on the table.

He hadn't heard from her in all the weeks since they had left Illinois. She had said she needed time, needed space, and Sam had been absolutely willing to give it to her.

_“Sam, um… "_

He immediately picked up on her dour tone. “Is something wrong?”

 _“No, no... Nothin’s wrong..._”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you in trouble? Are you in a place where you can’t speak freely?”

 _“No— Sam,”_ irritation crept into her voice, _”I’m fine. I promise._ ”

“Oh. Okay.” He relaxed just slightly. “Um, then… what’s up?” he asked, awkwardly trying to go back to casual.

_“I… I have a question.”_

“Oh, okay. Yeah, okay, go ahead.”

He heard her take a steadying breath. _"Well_ , _are you still cur— Are you still wearin’ that necklace?_ ”

He looked down at his chest where the amulet sat. “Yes,” he answered reluctantly.

 _“Oh, good. Well, not good but— Fuck.”_  Another breath. _“I were just wonderin'... Since you mentioned... What's the deal with purgatory?”_

“It's where monsters go when they die,” he blurted.

She was quiet for so long that Sam checked to see if she had hung up. _Damn it, necklace, there are less jarring ways to say that—_

 _“Is it…"_  she finally said, _"is it nice?”_

Oh god.

He scrambled to answer her, “I don't know. It’s fine, I guess. But— But you're not a monster, Bris, you’re not going there." He managed a small laugh, “I mean, even if you did— if anyone tried to send you there, I'd crawl in and I'd pull you out myself.”

She fell silent again. Sam waited patiently.

He checked his phone again.

She had hung up.

 

———

 

Bris stood with the phone in her hands.

He didn’t mean that.

She looked around for Direl, the unofficial keeper of the phone.

Sam was still wearing the necklace.

She found Direl over by Inas, leaning back in a chair as they sipped drinks at a table.

But Sam hadn’t answered a question. That curse was for questions. He only said that.

Bris tossed the phone, letting it skid across the table to Direl.

Sam said a lot of things.

Direl eyed the phone with caution. “So... how’d it go, lass? You get yer answer?”

She didn’t respond. Just dropped into her chair.

"...'Kay," said Direl.

_"He's been to Heaven and Hell?" Direl had asked not a few minutes ago._

_"And Purgatory," Bris had mumbled._

_"What's with that?"_

_"Fuck if I know."_

Which led to Direl suggesting that Bris call him up and ask, which led to her doing just that, which led to Sam saying—

She cursed herself. A month of being fine, undone because she thought she could just call him up and ask. There was nothing between them, so it should have been fine, she'd thought. Direl spoke to Sam all the time about the plan to get them home, why not her, too?

This. This was why.

Because Sam was... Sam. Sayin' things like _that._ That he'd crawl through Hell— well, Purgatory— for her, casual as a clam. 

She told herself he was just saying it— Even though he'd been there. Even though he knew exactly what that meant. He had to be just saying it. Like he 'just said' he wanted to make her happy. 'Just said’ he wanted to make her smile. 'Just said' he wanted her—

“Bris, love?” Inas asked.

She jolted. “Yeah?”

Inas checked her over. Bris tensed, recognizing that look.

“Come on, love," they said, "hows abouts you join me for a turn around the block, yeah?”

Inas stood from their chair and made for the door, not bothering to check if Bris was following.

Because of course Bris followed, pointedly ignoring another look from Direl.

They left the bar and stepped into the chilly night. They walked with Inas clasping their arms behind their back and Bris shortening her steps for Inas’s smaller gait.

After a long while of roaming in silence, Bris chanced to think that this might not be so bad, that she might actually get away with just going for a nice walk with Inas.

Well, as nice as it could be.

She was on edge. She was always on edge now, her head on a swivel, looking for anything that could get the jump on them. As they walked, her hand thoughtlessly went to the knife on her belt, a long thing somewhere between a dagger and a hunting knife. Most of the selkies had gone without in the month after they had first escaped the farm, but now almost all of them were carrying blades again, knicked over the last few weeks from weapons shops up in Wisconsin.

Yet even as her every sense was on high alert, she relaxed just a bit, calmed by the quiet stroll.

But she really should have known better.

“Yeh’ve been down for weeks, love, what's wrong?” Inas finally asked.

It was one of their typical broad openings, allowing Bris to decide where this started. Inas was the type that always knew just what to say, and Bris _knew_ they would be a source of comfort, but right now, she just didn't want any of it.

"I ain't down," she said.

Inas scoffed.

“Look, I really don't wanna talk about it, Inas.”

“Darlin’ how old're you now? Nigh on two centuries? I helped raise ye from a pup, an'  _I_ knows you wants talk about it ‘til you're blue in the face. Now the real question here is, why _aren't_ you talkin’ about it?”

They walked. Bris didn't answer.

“That bad, huh?”

“Lord above…” Bris allowed her head to tip back as she breathed her sigh to the sky. The lights of the town blocked out most of the stars.

A tiny smirk reached the corner of Inas's mouth. “Seems a safe bet this has somethin’ to do with that handsome hunter o’ yours, yeah?”

“He's not mine,” Bris snapped. She grimaced, and took a breath to calm down. "An’ how would you know if he's handsome, anyways? Ye never even met him.”

“No, but I certainly know your type. Handsome and tall as the day is long, with a dash of adorable just for spice." Their sharp blue eyes sparkled with a grin.

She sighed again, pursing her lips.

“‘Course this one's different, though, isn’t he?”

“An’ again, how would _you_ know?”

“If this one were like the others you'd'a been gone by now, nary a 'goodbye' in the wind, see you in forty-odd years!” Inas waved off into the distance.

“I say goodbye!” blustered Bris.

“Sure, lass,” Inas said. “Ye fall hard and ye fall fast. Four or some spouses now, an’ I've gotten a proper partin' _once.”_

Bris tried to hide her wince, steadfastly staring ahead. "I ain't  _fallen."_

Inas continued, undaunted. “You get that from yer mother's side a’course. The North Sea selkies have always been a passionate bunch.”

The North Sea… Damn it all, on top of everything else,  _now_  she was off pining for home.

“So tell me, love, before my old legs give out beneath me, what's so different about this one?”

Bris rolled her eyes at that. Inas could walk for days if they wanted. In fact, if she didn't wrap this up soon they'd probably end up in the next county.

But Bris was resolute. “I _don’t_ wants to talk about it, Inas.”

“Aye, an _that_ you get from yer father. Always was a stubborn bastard.”

Bris finally betrayed a smile, now passing through fond memories of her father, God rest his soul.

“Well, you'll want to talk sooner or later,” Inas concluded, “an’ I'll be right here when you do.”

To Bris’s surprise, she found that they were in front of the bar again. Inas pulled ahead and reentered without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean paced back and forth in his room.

Back and forth...

Back and forth...

It was morning now, probably late morning. Someone was gonna wonder why he hadn't come out yet, hadn't even made breakfast yet. The answer was simple, of course, but he wasn't about to tell anyone.

His world was upside down.

Everything made sense and nothing made sense. Because, sure, this might explain _some_ things, but… but what was he supposed to do with it? Should he go to a bar and try to pick up dudes? Should he stop trying to pick up chicks? ...Pick up both at once?

Wait-wait-wait— First of all: There's a name for this?

No wait— _F_ _irst_ of all: This is weird enough for a name?

No— Fuck. Everything was building at once, every question jockeying for the front of his mind.

He glanced helplessly at his bed, at the laptop sitting abandoned on the sheets. Google couldn't help anymore. He'd tried.

Had this always been there? His memories seemed to think so, but— shouldn't he have noticed by now? Shouldn't he have had a crush in high school, or a big tearful coming out, or a moment with someone that just made him say ‘oh’? He hadn’t had any of that and he was thirty-freakin’-eight years old!

Oh, shit, was he that old?

Fuck. This was crazy. This wasn't how this shit went. He'd seen enough movies, this was something you find out as a kid! Fuck. Fuck!

He needed to talk to someone. He _needed_ to talk to someone. But who? Who the fuck would he even want to talk to that wasn't already goddamn _dead?_

He stopped his pacing and gripped at his hair, racking around in his brain for something to work with. Come on, he knew someone. There had to be _someone_.

_Well how about Max?_

Dean unclenched his jaw.

What, Max Banes? The witch kid?

_Yeah, he's out. You've got his number, right?_

Without giving himself time to think about it, Dean snatched his phone from his nightstand and found the contact.

Three rings in and Dean was about to lose his nerve, when Max answered.

_“Hello?”_

“Hey, Max? It's Dean. Dean Winchester.” No, wait, this was a terrible idea—

“ _Deeeaan! Hey, what's up, man?_ ”

“Hey! Yeah, hey. You, ah, you got a minute?” He should hang up he should hang up he should hang up—

_“Yeah, sure, what’s goin' on?”_

“Yeah. Okay. Um. It's…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, it's kind of a— a chick-flick thing.”

“ _A… what? A chick-flick thing?_ ”

“Yeah. Sorry. It's… It’s personal. A personal thing.”

“... _And you called me?_ ”

“Yeah. Look, nevermind, I'll just—”

“ _No, no, man, I can help. How bad can it be? You gonna come out to me or somethin’?_ ”

Dean froze. He forgot how to breathe.

_“Oh my god.”_

“No, wait— I— No— _S_ _hit—!”_

“ _Whoa-whoa-whoa, hey. Listen to me. Hey. ...You hear that?_ ”

Dean stopped. He listened. “H-hear what?”

“ _Exactly. I'm not laughin’. I'm not chewin’ you out, okay? Talk to me, man._ ”

“Oh, uh.” He ran a hand over his face. “Um— Fuck. Okay.”

“ _Yeah, there we go. Alright. N_ _ow if I remember how this went for me, you called because you got somethin’ you wanna ask._ ”

“Um— Yeah. I, um—” Dean pulled in a shaking breath. “Fuck.”

“ _Yeah, yeah, I remember that feel. Take your time, man, I got nowhere to be._ ”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He placed a hand on his hip and tipped his head back to the ceiling.

“How… how did you know?”

Max paused. When he spoke again Dean could hear the smile in his voice, _“Well for me it was a dare that turned out pretty great, but I kinda always suspected.”_

“Oh.”

“ _That not quite what happened to you?_ ”

“No. I— I took this stupid _test_ and—”

“ _A test?_ _What, like the Kinsey thing?_ ”

“Yeah, that. And I got a three and— Dude, it feels like a fuckin'  _freight train_ hit me and I don't know what to _do_  and _—_ ”

“ _Hey-hey-hey, sometimes it’s an all at once thing, that’s legit._ ”

“Oh. Yeah?”

“ _Yeah._ ”

“...Fuck.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

“Okay, but— But this feels like it can't be real, man. I'm… I’m too old for this—”

“ _Oh no, mm-nm,_ _you cut that bullshit right now. I know people, didn't realize ‘til they were sixty, fuckin’ eighty. Knew they were different but never had a name for it. Or they had no idea they were different and one day someone comes along and points it out to them and BAM, everything clicks._”

Fuckin’ _eighty?_ “You're not bullshittin’ me?” Dean asked cautiously.

_“This is not the shit I would ever fuck around with."_

Dean had never heard Max so serious. He’d met the guy, like, twice, but still.

“How—” he started again, “How do I know I’m not makin' this up?”

“ _Well shit, the fact that you’re talkin' to me about it should be a big clue. But Dean, my man, there’s no test to get in. Not a certain number of crushes, or one-night stands. You think you like dick, too, that counts. Do whatever the fuck you want with that. Explore it, don’t, who fuckin’ cares. You do you._ ”

Dean blinked at the wall, open mouthed. “Oh.”

They fell into another silence. This time Max broke it.

“ _Everything’s different and nothing’s changed, right?_ ”

“Fuck... Yeah...”

“ _So that all you got? Did I help?_ ”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, he ran a hand over his morning scruff. “Yeah, I think you did. Thanks.”

“ _Give it a month, it’ll feel like it was always this way._ ”

“Yeah. Alright.”

“ _And hey, one more thing._ ”

“What?”

“ _It's not just you, alright? Welcome to the club,_ ” he said warmly.

Dean huffed a dry laugh. “Thanks,” he said, with an actual smile.

“ _No problem. Keep in touch, okay?_ ”

“Yeah. Okay," he said. And he meant it.

 

———

 

Bris awoke with a start.

She sat forward from the tree she had slept against that night, her heart in her throat, her breath coming in gasps. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed harshly at her face, as though she could scrub the visions of cage bars and the smell of stagnant water from her mind.

She hated that nightmare. It always ended the same: With that woman coming to the cage. Singling her out. Pulling her forward so those demons could drag her, kicking and screaming to the barn—

She shoved it aside. That woman didn't have any right to her head. Wasn't enough room in there nowadays, anyhow.

She stood and headed down toward the river, wandering between her family members lounging on the beach. This mild winter was downright pleasurable compared to those at home, and was utterly incomparable to the past winters they'd spent frozen into that pond, so even in the slight chill, her cousins were sunbathing, sitting together, splashing in the shallows. A gleeful shout reached her from the river, where a few uncles were wrestling with the _dobthar-chú_. Everyone was just… _enjoying_ themselves, and after all they'd been through, it was a relief to see them all relaxed. Downright heartwarming.

Well, to a point.

Something was missing. But she couldn't put her finger on it. She joined a group settled under a tree near the water, and sat herself next to Inas.

They took one look at her face and offered up an answer.

“Children,” Inas said.

“What?” Bris asked.

“Somethin’s not quite right,” Inas sighed. "No little ones duckin’ in between us all.”

Bris looked out across the beach again. That was it, alright.

Most of the family was here, on this little beach at the bottom of some sort of nature reserve along the river. They had moved south again, trying not to stay in the same place for too long, as Sam, Dean, and Castiel had been concerned they would draw attention to themselves the same way they had drawn the three hunter’s notice in the first place. The boys had warned them that other hunters weren't as understanding as they were, so the selkies were being most cautious in that way. The women weren’t even hiding their coats anymore, preferring to keep them close at all times now.

But it wasn't typical of the family to stay together this long— after the first escape they'd made, with no immediate hope of getting home, they had scattered across the watershed in the normal fashion— but most of the family were still gathered here, feeling safer together, too nervous to separate even with the extra protection Castiel had given them. Now sure, some of her more restless cousins had already taken off, choosing to return to their new husbands and wives, but for the rest of the family, the fear of another demon attack was always present, unspoken, but known by all.

Just then Bris’s gaze happened to catch a few of her cousins lounging in the shallows, their bellies swollen with expectancy. Little ankle biters may have been what was missing from this scene, but that certainly wouldn’t be a problem for long. 

Bris's chest clenched.

“But that's not what you came here to talk about,” Inas continued, either oblivious to or ignoring Bris’s sudden storm of discomfort.

Bris pulled up her knees and dropped her chin to her arms. “Didn’t come to talk about anythin’,” she mumbled. 

“A’course not,” they answered with a smile.  

“Oh would you jus’ spill it, lass?” another cousin sitting next to Inas cut in. “You’re only drawin’ out the inevitable.”

Bris shrank further into her crossed arms. 

“Please, Bris,” an aunt tried, “you knows we only wants to help. Please, talk to us, _a stór.”_

"Ain't nothin' to talk about!" Bris snapped through clenched teeth. "Can't a woman jus' sit in peace!"

"But, Bris, love—" 

“Oi, now!" came a voice approaching from the crowd. "Make some room in that there moss, this watermelon needs ta sit!”

Her cousin Sebhin waddled up between them, settling herself against the tree they were under with a great sigh as she put a hand over her belly. “Good Lord, my _feet!_ Can’t wait to get back in the water tonight, don’t well know how anyone does this without the means to switch to flippers!”

“Aye, but it’ll be over soon,” her aunt said as she scooted over to sit nearer Sebhin and pat the hand on her belly. “You're gonna pop any day now and then you'll get a whole new set a' aches to tend!”

Her family all burst into chuckles at that, but Bris found that she could only stare. Her pulse was racing, her shoulders tensed, and she knew right away she must look insane, so she shot to her feet, mumbled a quick goodbye, and took off.

She found herself a picnic table a good distance away and plopped down on top of it, her feet perched up on the seat. She forced her hand away from the blade on her belt and dropped her face in her palms, trying to rope her breathing back under control.

“Now I _know_ you’re not upset with Sebhin.”

Bris jumped a foot off the table, whipping around to find Inas now seated next to her.

She huffed her annoyance and put her face right back in her hands. “A’course not,” she snipped.

“But ye don’ wanna talk about it,” they said.

Bris didn’t answer. She couldn't.

Inas sighed. “Ye must know it breaks our hearts to see you in such a state, love.” They put a hand on her back and rubbed gently, just up and down, smoothing her tight muscles. “This ordeal has affected us all. An’ you’ve got the extra burden of troubles of the heart.”

Inas continued to rub her back, now moving in gentle circles... up and down... and up and down... With every pass she found herself letting go just a little bit more and soon she was almost lost in it, the soothing sensation of a loving hand. She sighed, deep and long, marveling at how such a small thing could help so much.

Without lifting her face from her hands, Bris finally reached out. About one thing, at least.

“He don’t need me, Inas.”

Inas sighed, a sound filled with relief and knowing empathy. “I see, the slow tear of unrequited love.”

“It ain't love,” Bris corrected bitterly, “but it is requited, sure ‘nough.”

Inas raised a thin, grey eyebrow at her. “Erm... yeh’ve lost me, lass.”

“He wants me but he don’t _need_ me,” she groaned into her palms, as if emphasizing the word would make her confession any clearer, “in his heart!”

Now their face screwed up in confusion. “Well what’s that got to do with anythin’?”

Bris popped up from her hands, only able to gape before she found her voice again. “It’s got _everythin’_ to do with anythin’!" she burst. "He’s fine on his own, he don’ need me what to help him!”

Their expression didn't improve. “Sounds downright amazin’,” Inas said, with a small shake of their head.

“How can you— That’s not—” Bris stammered. She smacked her palms against the table, “I can’t—” and leaned forward to get up and leave.

“Wait, love, wait, please—” Inas put a hand on her arm. “Help me to understand, please.”

Bris gritted her teeth, but lowered herself back to the table.

“So he don’t need you what to help him with his troubles,” Inas began, "but he’s still sweet on ye?”

“He—” Bris considered what Sam had told her weeks ago at that bar upriver. “He’s more’n sweet on me.”

“Alright,” Inas said slowly, “an’ you think that because he don’t need a wife, you shouldn’t go to him?”

“It’s what we _do,_ Inas!” Bris threw her hands down into her lap. “It’s our _purpose_ , it’s what the Lord put us—”

She stopped. Because maybe that wasn’t true.

“Aye, it’s what the Lord created us for, but that ain't all there is in life.”

“What if—” Bris's eyes searched the ground before her. “What if… He didn’t.”

Inas huffed a small laugh, “Then I’d say you’re down one trouble.”

“I’m serious, Inas! What if— What if God is just a... a ‘careless dick’?”

“Bris!”

"I mean it! What if— What if the Lord don't actually give half a rat's ass what's—"

 _"Bris!_ You cut that kinda talk, where's this comin’ from?”

Bris froze in her tracks, realizing what was going to have to come next. “Sam—” the words caught in her throat. “Sam has met God.”

Inas didn’t answer that. In fact, they went silent for so long Bris turned to look at them.

They were staring at her, unblinking. “He... said that he—”

“No, he didn’t just say it. He meant it. He— Sam’s cursed.”

Inas blinked once.

“He got stuck with this cursed necklace an’ he has to tell the truth now," she said in a rush. "But that’s not the important part. He’s _met_ God. Met Him, an' spoke with Him, an'— an' well— An' well apparently there’s no _reason_ to all of this! There’s no— _Apparently_ ye go to Heaven just for bein’ _nice._ An’ a’course he _knows_ that ‘cause like I toldja he’s fuckin’ _been_ there. Not that it even matters anyhow, ‘cause _we’re_ not goin’ to Heaven anyways, 'cause he said Purgatory's the place just for creatures an'—”

“Bris, Bris,” Inas put a hand on her arm and squeezed their eyes shut, “I need you to slow down, darlin’.”

“Right?” she shouted, causing some of the family at the edge of the gathering to turn toward them. “I need me to slow down, too, 'cause _everythin’_ is wrong-ways up and nothin’ makes _sense_ anymore!”

Inas's hand tightened on her arm as they shook their head. “So when he said there's no reason—”

“There’s just not anyone in _charge_ a’ the place!" More family members were watching her now. "God ain't listenin' to no prayers, He ain't carin' what we do— Apparently after the _sun almost died_ God just went off and legged it with his sister for a _vacation!”_

“He— Hold up, God’s got a sister now?”

 _“I fuckin’ know, right?”_ she screeched. _“Christ_ on a _cracker, see? _D’you _see_ why I didn’ wanna talk about it!? I just— What am I s'posed to _do_ with this!?” She leapt from the table now, pulling away from Inas’s reach. “The fuck am I supposed to _do?"_

She made a line for the river, ignoring her family’s stares and slipping into the water without a backwards glance to anyone.

 

———

 

Dean left his room that morning still feeling like he'd been run over by a train, but at least the conductor had been playing a tune.

Part of his earworm had finally shown up—not the damned chorus, of course, but the part that came before. He sang under his breath and mimed the snare drum as he bopped his way down the hallway:

 _*...‘Cause life is not a love song, though we try, to fix our broken pieces, one at a time…*_ _chnk, chnk, chnk…_

Well— he shrugged to himself— those were probably the words anyway. Better than the nothing he had before.

He swung into the kitchen, grooving along to his little song, and intending to make himself some brunch. Pancakes? French toast? Oo, maybe eggs benedict—?

But he stopped when he found Sam sitting at the island.

Now that in itself shouldn’t have halted the Dean-train in its tracks, but Sam was slumped over the silver counter, his head on his arms. Beer bottles, four beer bottles, and— shit— an empty fifth of whiskey stood guard next to him on the counter. Dean checked his watch. It was ten thirty in the morning.

He approached him slowly, not wanting to spook him or anything, and rounded the island for a better look.

Sam was just... staring at the table, eyes open but not focused on anything. His phone was sitting a short distance away, playing a song that came sharp and tin-y over the little speaker:

 _“...I kissed the poison on your lips ‘til I was paralyzed,_  
_Now all the chemicals are burnin’ right between my eyes,  
_ _All that you left me was a number, on the back of my hand…”_

Dean grimaced. _Yeesh._  

“Uh... Hey,” he tried.

Sam hummed short in acknowledgement.

“You, ah… you have any breakfast yet?” Dean asked.

Sam gave a grunt.

“Sorry, Sammy, I don’t speak ‘ _mmph’_ ,” Dean teased, trying a smirk.

Sam turned his face and groaned into his arms.

“Yeah, alright. I’m just gonna go ahead and make brunch.”

He didn’t even get a response to that as he moved off to gather his ingredients. Yeah, definitely a French Toast kind of morning.

As he worked, the song continued from the counter:

 _“...Let's slip away, I know a place somewhere outside of town,_  
_I lost your grip out in the rain amongst the raging crowd,_  
_And all your numbers started fadin',  
_ _From the back of my hand,_

_I got nothin’! Woohoo, Woohoo—”_

“Look, uh, I don’t wanna interrupt—” Dean gestured with his whisk, “—this. But could we listen to somethin' else?”

Sam's answer was another murmured grunt. Without raising his head, he lifted a heavy hand and dropped it by the phone. He missed by about six inches.

“Okay…” Dean returned to his bowl. He added extra sugar to the egg mix.

 _"...So I've been walkin', I'm gonna find you,_  
_Through every backstreet, I will run through,_  
I count the days, 'til I carry you home—"

Sam’s hand found his phone, and he skipped the track without moving his head from his arms.

The rock was cut off and was replaced by a jangly guitar, slowly strumming before a mellow, twanging singer began to strain...

“ _Well you ain’t that old, but you ain’t that young,_  
_You lived a life, but you ain’t quite done,_  
_All eyes on you everywhere you go,  
__Yeah, it’s all good, ‘till you get too close,”_

*Jesus Christ,* Dean grumbled under his breath.

 _“Girl you’re gonna hurt somebody,_  
_Make somebody bleed,_  
_Yeah, you’re gonna hurt somebody,  
_ _...God, I hope it’s me—"_

“Alright—” Dean snatched up Sam’s phone and stopped the track, leveling his brother with a heavy look. “You’ve been fine for _weeks,_ but now, all of a sudden, you're the lame-ass dude in every movie ever after the big break-up. What gives?”

“Nothin’ _gives,_ ” Sam gritted.

Dean glared at the top of his head, waiting for the real answer.

“ _Uuuugh._ ” Sam tensed his shoulders, pulling himself in tighter. “Damned necklace— She called me, okay?”

"She? What, Bris?"

Sam nodded against his arms.

“Okay...” Dean said slowly, "and I guess I can assume from the disturbing amount of booze here it didn’t go too well.”

“Tha’s the problem!” Sam said too loudly, shooting up straight and throwing his arms wide. “I mean, I  _think_ it was bad!”

“And that warrants suicide by liver.”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his rat's-nest of hair. “I jus'... Okay, everything was fine, right? Everything was fine— I had this all tucked aside— in a nice little box— and everythin' was fine." He mimed a box that he 'closed' and 'pushed' aside. "But then she called. And she had these questions. And I fucked it up. But I... I heard her voice... And she got all angry, an' she's really _hot_ when she's angry..." he pouted. "I thought she'd decided she didn't wanna see me... but now... Dammit, I just wanna _know_ ,” he moaned, dropping his head to his arms again. "I don't know what to  _do."_

Dean exhaled, low and grumbling. “Look, um... She’s gotta make up her mind eventually right? She's gotta stop jerkin' you around _sometime_ and there’s... not really anything you _can_ do until she does... so…” 

Sam somehow sank even lower in his chair.

Dean drew himself up. “Fuck, Sam,” he pointed the whisk accusingly, “is this chick really worth all this crap?”

Sam snapped up and slapped his palms on the counter, glaring daggers at Dean.

Dean just stepped back and raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Wow. You are _so_ fuckin’ gone.”

Realization crossed Sam’s face like molasses. He sank into his chair again, “ _Uuuuuugh._ ”

Dean shook his head, “Yeah, you’re all sorts of fucked. Now go wash up before you get your grimy mitts all over my hard work, bet you’ve been sittin’ here all night.” He turned back to the counter and started pulling out slices of bread.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's back as he spun off of his stool and headed to the bathroom. Took him a couple tries to find it, though; he wasn’t exactly sober and a few days ago it had moved down the hall.

The tile was cold on his bare feet as he crossed to the wall of sinks and turned the tap. Dean just happened to be right, he _had_ been in the kitchen all night, so he wasn’t exactly feeling chipper this... was it morning? Whatever. Had to be if Dean wanted to make  _brunch._ He scoffed over the ghost of a smile and bent over the basin to splash cold water up on his face—

_The burn of icy water is forced into his lungs. He chokes and he heaves, but he can’t breathe— he can't breathe—_

Sam fell to the floor, flailing for something to grab, coughing and sputtering, thumping his chest to clear it of nothing.

“Sam?” Dean burst into the bathroom. “Sam!” 

“ _Deh_ \- Dean?” The water was gone. His face was still wet but he could breathe again.

Dean was at his side, checking him up and down, gripping his shoulder to hold him steady. “What happened?” he demanded.

The necklace pulled his tongue, “I—” _No-no-no! Redirect! Half-truths!_ "I just, um, I tripped."

“You _screamed,_  Sam.”

“Stubbed my toe.” Thank god he could still lie.

Dean looked him square in the face, “You stubbed your toe and screamed bloody murder.”

“Yeah, Dean!” Sam glared right back. “It freakin’ hurt!”

Dean watched him a moment longer. His eyes flicked to the necklace and back. Then he seemed to acquiesce, and pulled Sam up with him as he stood. “Alright. Hurry up, okay? Food’s almost ready.”

“Yeah.” He shook off Dean's hand still gripping his shoulder. “Yeah, sure, I'll be right there.”

Dean looked like he wanted to say something else, but he reluctantly left, leaving Sam alone in the echoing bathroom.

Sam approached the sink again. He leaned heavily on the sides of the basin.

This shouldn’t be happening.

Books dropped on tables, flickering lights, fucking _paper cuts—_  Shit was freaking him out and he didn’t know _why_. Maybe it was the necklace, or, fuck, maybe talking to Rowena in the Impala a few months ago had knocked something loose.

Sam ran the water again, holding his hand under the stream to prepare himself for his next attempt.

He steeled himself, and splashed the water up, roughly scrubbing at his face.

If there was something knocked loose, maybe he could knock it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you're a glutton for punishment, here's the [Sad Sam Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/2g28F03csNQQc651gsW0kD?si=jXHNhvqMSKCwcqBbQ3OL0w). What Sam was listening to all night.  
> All playlists for this series can be found in [the piece at the end of this series.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772668)  
>  
> 
>  _A stór_ \- "my dear", literally "my treasure". A small term of endearment.
> 
> -To the best of my research into Geailge, Sebhin should be pronounced SHEV-in. "Bh" is a compound consonant and before the vowel "i" would be shortened from a "w" sound to a "v". 
> 
>  
> 
> -Also, one might call the special section leading into the chorus a “bridge.” *cough, cough*  
>  
> 
> Songs in this Chapter:  
> {Hands - Barns Courtney}  
> [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/4n2G1Wxz1gYxe7AhYV7N9E?si=jCzozCT-RhGbyGeIfizH7g) ~ [Lyrics](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/barnscourtney/hands.html)
> 
>    
> {Hurt Somebody - The Dirt Drifters}  
> [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/5X3JLiwRDglhXRc7uDbB2V?si=_Ec1tI-RQpWr4dPJgC14OA) ~ [Lyrics](https://www.lyrics.com/lyric/24157431/The+Dirt+Drifters/Hurt+Somebody)


	4. Chapter 4

Brunch was quiet.

Dean insisted on cleaning up afterwards, sending Sam off with a bottle of ibuprofen and instructions to 'go get some freakin' sleep'.

He scrubbed the dishes, repeatedly assuring himself that everything was okay. He'd asked what happened, Sam had answered, Sam was wearing the necklace, case closed.

Although... 

Sam could still lie.

Dean smothered the thought as soon as it appeared. Sam wouldn't lie, not if something was really wrong. No, he'd wanna _talk_ about it, touchy-feely girl that he was. Sam was just drunk right now, and screwed-up over this stuff with that girl.

Besides, knowing Sam, if Dean pushed the issue he'd just use that big brain of his to flip everything back over to Dean, and after Max, Dean was pretty much talked-out for the next year. 

Dean placed the last dish in the drying rack and left the kitchen to get his day going. After yesterday he was pretty much researched-out, too, so today was gonna to be about his favorite 'R' after Rush: Relaxation.

He picked up his laptop from his room, doubled back for a beer from the fridge, and headed off for the Dean Cave.

...The Fortress of Dean-itude.

...The Dean-itude Cave?

He plopped into one of the armchairs, started up the computer, and twisted off the cap on his beer. Yeah. Alright. Relaxing.

Easy.

He pulled up his bootlegged Star Wars— the _original_ , thank you very much, none of that computer hoo-doo crap. Han shot first, elephants in shag carpet costumes, the insane genius of John Mollo, nothin' but the best.

The opening scroll finished and he settled back in his chair with a sigh. _Ahh,_ Luke, you whiny bitch.

Hm. Wait a minute.

Dean skipped ahead to the scene in Mos Eisley and— yup, there he was. Dark brown hair, cavalier attitude, even that freakin’ vest. All the glory that was young Harrison Ford, shooting from the hip and asking questions later. Undeniable badass.

Huh.

He minimized the movie and pulled up another file, an episode of Scooby-Doo. _A Night of Fright is No Delight,_ specifically.

Yup, there was Fred, and Daphne, too, no doubt, but now… there was Fred. With his perfect hair, his can-do attitude...

He _had_ looked better without the ascot. All broad-shouldered and with his shirt open at the top, his hair a mess from his freak out about not doing _enough_ for the world—

Alright, alright.

He went back to his mental list, and started searching for something with James Dean… Okay, _Rebel Without a Cause_ , that's a good one. He skipped ahead and... Yep. Whaddya fuckin' know, perfect fucking lips.

Oh, hey, here comes Plato—

Oh.

Uh.

It’d been a while since he'd watched this one, but… Had this movie always been so… gay?

Dean snapped his laptop shut. Movies weren't gonna help today.

He shook himself of his own blasphemy and wondered how long it had been since he'd left the bunker. Too long, he decided, and gathered up his things to head back to his room. He tossed his sweats over the end of the bed and rummaged through his dresser, a destination already in mind. Bar should be open by now, right?

Proper pants and wallet acquired, Dean headed out for a day on the town.

Or at least, he tried to head out. As he crossed the library, however, Sam made a beeline from the tables to Dean, a conspicuous manila folder in hand. 

“Hey, Dean, could we talk about—”

"Thought I told you to get some rest?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I've got things to do, Dean. Like figure out how we're going to—"

“Look, Sam, if I have to look at another one of those _damned_ _files,_  I'm gonna lose it. I'm headed out for a bit, you got Ketch under control?”

Ketch didn't even look up from his work. “Please.”

Sam pulled a deep frown. “Yeah, we're fine here. Where are you going?”

“Out. Don't wait up.”

Dean made it halfway up the stairs to the door when a hand grabbed his arm. He spun back around and snapped, _“What?”_

“Hey,” Sam looked up at him with those big, sad eyes, “should I be worried?”

“What— No. I'm just goin' out.”

“Yeah, but where?”

“Jesus, to the bar, Sam! What, do I need to give you a full report on every little thing I do?”

“No, of course not, but this is two days you've—”

“Alright then,” Dean said, a bit more brisk than he intended, and pulled himself from Sam's loosened grip. He hurried up the last of the stairs and out the front door.

The lone bar in town was a good ways off from the bunker, but if Dean was gonna drink as much as he wanted to right now then he was gonna walk. He absolutely would not leave Baby in that tiny, godforsaken, municipal parking lot overnight.

The slight chill in the air picked at his jacket, just barely enough to make Dean hunch his shoulders. Winter sure was taking its sweet time getting here.

Dean wondered what the selkies might do once it started snowing. Were they hanging out in that lake again, causing trouble in town? Were they all gonna move south like some sorta birds? Maybe they'd end up a little closer to home, here, and Sam could quit his moping. Or would that make the moping worse? Would probably make it worse for Dean, freakin’ Direl might try to stop by for a 'friendly visit'.

Freakin’ Direl. That asshole started all this, didn't he? Pushy bastard with his ridiculous accent and his dark hair and his bright eyes and his just-enough scruff, running into battle with no concern for himself in order to protect his family—

Huh. Did Dean have a type?

By the time he turned the corner and stepped inside the bar, he was deciding whether to hug Direl or deck him the next time he saw him. All he concluded was that he was definitely gonna need these drinks today.

He found himself an empty stool near the end of the bartop— last thing he needed was some day-drunk chatterbox trying to spill their guts to him. The bar wasn't all that busy yet, so he quickly caught the bartender's attention, ordered three fingers of some good ol' Jack Daniel's, and tried to settle in. 

He wanted to get lost in the buzz, to let the booze do its job and numb out the crazy for a while, but his brain just wasn't playing that tune tonight. Things that Max had said kept popping up in his head and demanding his attention, like some fucked-up version of whack-a-problem up in there.

_There's no test to get in… Explore it, don't, who cares?_

Dean turned around in his stool, scanning the bar. Looked like today was gonna be a ‘don't.’

_I know people, didn't realize ‘til they were sixty… BAM, everything clicks._

He found himself wishing this had been more of a build, less of a 'bam.' Dean wasn't much for surprises.

 _Give it a month,_ Max had said.

Sure, Max, but things were crazy _right now_.

His glass sloshed and Dean jumped, eyes snapping to the bartender, just refilling his drink. She lifted a lazy eyebrow at him and went back to cleaning glasses.

He hunched, and felt his discomfort wrap around him like a second jacket, sitting right there on the surface for everyone to see.

He turned on his stool, nervously eyeing the other people in the bar again. Were they looking at him? Scrutinizing him? Shit, could they _tell?_

His gaze met an older guy in a cap.

Oh god, was someone gonna  _ask—_

Dean spun back to the bar, squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn't twenty anymore. He could handle himself. Today was supposed to be about relaxing, remember?  _Not_ freaking out. He was here to relax, and have a drink at the bar, like normal.

_Everything’s different..._

Damn it. Fucking Direl. Fucking actors. Fucking _test—_ Why couldn’t they have just left him alone? He was  _fine_ before, why did they have to come and mess everything up?

Dean looked into his glass like it would have an answer. It didn’t of course, it just stared back at him. So he downed the smug asshole.

This was stupid. This whole thing was _stupid._ Why should it be so earth-shattering that he might, maybe, kinda be into dudes, too? Why did this have to be a _thing?_ God, why did people even care about what was going on in his pants, not like he cared about theirs!

 

Oh.

 

Wait...

 

He looked around the bar again. The patrons scattered around the room weren't paying him any attention. None. Way too absorbed in their own sad shit to give him more than half a glance. A smile pulled at Dean's mouth.

Nobody cared.

Nobody gave a flying fuck what was going on in his pants. And why would they? Wasn't their business anyway, was it!

Dean paid his tab, hopped off his stool, and headed back home.

Maybe this wouldn't be so awful after all. Maybe Max was right.

_and nothing’s changed._


	5. Chapter 5

When Dean woke up in his room the next morning, it was with regret of the night before. No, he hadn’t had all that much at the bar, but when he'd gotten back, Sam had insisted on sharing a few beers— some bullshit about spending time together, like they didn’t get enough of that. Dean didn't give him too much shit for it though, Sam was just probably still all hung up with his romantic bullshit. Not that Dean actually knew. See, a few beers had become… more than a few, and when he tried to remember anything more than that he was met with a disapproving wall of headache.

“Fuckin’ Sam and his fuckin' girl problems...” Dean grumbled as he forced himself to sit up. And okay,  _ow._ Christ, seriously, since when did _beer_ give him a fuckin' hangover?Fuck, he was getting old. 

Welp, nothing was gonna solve this but coffee and the greasiest breakfast he could muster. Thank god he still had a pack of bacon in the—

Dean paused as he pushed the covers back. There was something at the end of his bed. Something that definitely hadn't been there when he passed out last night.

He swung his legs over the side of the mattress and leaned in to get a better look. He frowned, face creasing in confusion, because now, sitting oh-so innocently at the foot of his bed,

Was a present.

A tiny present, nestled between the rumpled sheets and the wooden foot board. He reached out to pick it up— a little green box tied with a little green ribbon— and turned it over in his hands. 

He was immediately suspicious of it.

Alright, what tests could he run on a box? Couldn’t cut it with silver, that’s for sure. Maybe holy water...?

He narrowed his eyes. "Christo?"

Nothing happened. Of course it didn't. Because it was a box.

Impatient with morning sluggishness and  _hell_ of a headache, Dean decided: fuck it, it was just a fucking present.

A tiny, _perfectly_ tied, present.

He carefully tugged at the gold-flecked ribbon, allowing it to fall away to the bed, and waited to see if that did anything. When it didn’t, he slowly, carefully,  _delicately_ lifted the lid off the box...

And tilted his head at the contents.

It was a cassette. A black cassette.

But...

He lifted it out of the box. The cassette had a... cord? Yeah, a cord attached to it. But there was no tape in the cassette. And the cord ended in a headphone jack.

The fuck?

Alright, so it must go in a tape player and… fuck, what, let you plug into the stereo? He supposed that could be nice, but who would—

Wait.

Fucking Crowley.

Dean rolled his eyes and tossed the cassette back in the box. Fucking. Crowley. After the brazen chocolates in his jacket, there had been all sorts of weird shit popping up in the bunker. A bouquet on the front step, cookies on the kitchen counter, a fucking teddy bear on the library table—  _that_ one had been fun to explain away to a very confused Sam.

Fucking Crowley and his fucking weird-ass gifts.

Dean carelessly tossed the box into the back of his closet— where it landed on top of the teddy bear— and immediately left for the kitchen.

The short walk was spent with his thoughts in a grumbling gray fog and his eyes mostly shut— because every time they even _considered_ moving, his head threatened to split open in rebellion. He made it to the fridge, mostly by muscle memory, and began rooting around the shelves for his relief.  Then, just as he was deciding whether a straight-bacon breakfast or a bacon-and-egg breakfast would be best cure his woes, he was struck by one dark cloud in particular:

_Hey, remember that whole thing with Crowley?_

Dean slammed the fridge door shut.

 _I know, I know, but_ _should you really be so fast to reject whatever Crowley is trying to do here?_

What— _Yes!_  What even kind of a question is that?

_I dunno. Just pokin' around up here_

Well, cut it out! That was just the— the whole being-a-demon-thing talking. And doing

_You sure about that?_

Dean let the bacon drop to the counter.

That was back then

_Yeah, okay, but—_

That was then, this is now, and _that_ isn't gonna be touched with a ten-foot pole, got it?

_Fine! Yeah, man, fine_

Dean retrieved a pan from over the island.

_...Got some pretty awesome Gunner Lawless memories here, too_

Dean paused.

Then he shrugged.

Yeah, that sounds nice

He began to hum the Top Notch theme song as he fried up some breakfast.

A short while later, apparently summoned by the smell, Sam stumbled in, bleary eyed and more than disheveled. He dropped into a chair at the island, propped his head in his hand, and pushed an empty plate forward.

Dean eyed it warily. “Are you asking for bacon?”

Sam sighed, shoulders tensing. "Yes," he grunted in reply.

Dean stared at him. “You. Are asking for bacon?”

“Yes, Dean! I’m hungry, and my head is killing me.” 

Dean looked between the plate and his pan in dismay. 

Sam huffed with a pitiful little sigh.

Dean rolled his eyes, but damn it if he didn't cave and put half the strips on Sam’s plate. If Sam was fucked up enough to even ask, he probably needed it more that Dean did. 

He returned to the stove, intending pour the liquid gold that was bacon fat into a jar for—

 

_Tell him!_

 

Dean dropped the pan on the stove, the harsh clang cruelly smashing into his headache.

“Fuck, Dean!” Sam clutched his head. “What the shit!?”

Dean whirled around, eyes wide and neck taught.

_Tell him_ _!_

“Nuh- Nothing!” he blurted, already backing out of the kitchen. “Sorry, I just— I gotta— gotta, um— over there!”

He bolted.

Sam slowly blinked at where Dean had last been. He sighed and turned back to his plate.

He saw Dean’s abandoned plate.

He pulled Dean’s plate over to himself.

———

What the fuck was that!?

_You gotta tell him!_

I don’t gotta do shit! 

Dean argued with himself all the way out to the map room, where he began pacing around the table.

_You have to tell him!_

No! No I don't! 

_You do!_

I don't!

_You have to tell someone besides Max!_

No! Just shut up! 

_I’ll shut up when you tell him!_

No! This is _my_ fucking business!

_It's Sam—_

No! 

_You gotta tell him!_

No I don _—_

 _You gotta_ , _you gotta, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta, you—_

Dean clenched his teeth, letting loose a growl that ended with a shouted: “Fuck! Fine!”

He stomped back to the kitchen, only to find Sam now standing in front of the coffee maker, apparently willing it to start brewing.

Dean's shoulders dropped with a short sigh, a bit of his panic leaving him at the thoroughly sorry sight. He crossed the kitchen to pull out the coffee grounds, and nudged Sam aside. Sam went back to his seat at the island, pawing at his last few slices of bacon.

“Hey, Sam...” Dean started as he pulled the lid off the can, “We, ah… Could we... Could we maybe talk about… um...”

Sam glanced up. “The Seal of Solomon?”

“Yes! That!” Dean spun and pointed the little scoop at him. His eyes fell to his almost-empty plate, “Hey!” he pulled it back to himself, “Did you eat all my damn bacon?”

“Almost all of it,” Sam answered. “You left it,” he mumbled.

“God, you’re such a bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam grumbled back weakly.

For some reason, that broke Dean’s heart a little.

He returned to the coffee pot, resolutely ignoring the clench in his chest demanding he change the subject back. “So the Seal is in…?”

“It _might_ be in Rhode Island.”

“Well what’s it _maybe_ doing there?”

Sam rolled his eyes. Winced at the motion. “Well, if you’d actually _listened_ to me the other night I was _trying_ to tell you that the Men of Letters have a chapter house out there.”

“Right. The other night. Yeah, uh— Sorry.” Dean suppressed a wince of his own. “So we gonna go get it?”

“Do I smell coffee?” Ketch poked his head into the kitchen.

“Probably,” Sam answered both of them.

Dean groaned. That’s all his headache needed, Ketch’s damned voice. He tossed a hand at the pot, “Yeah, I guess…”

“Excellent!” He strode over and snatched Dean’s mug from the counter.

“Hey—”

“By the way, I’ve finished your driver's licences,” Ketch said over his shoulder as he poured his cup.

Sam sat upright, “You did?”

“Dude, it’s been like, two days,” said Dean.

“Yes, well—” Ketch took a sip of his coffee, “Oh, that’s splendid— Well, some of us don’t spend our evenings getting _royally sloshed.”_ He clunked his mug on the island’s metal counter top, causing Sam and Dean to flinch.

 _“Fucking hell,_ I swear to _god_ I’ll hand you back to Asmodeus myself—” Dean growled.

“Dean,” Sam cut him off. He turned back to Ketch, “You got forty ID's done already?”

“One for every picture you gave me.”

“And the passports?”

“Oh, no, not the passports yet.”

“Okay, yeah, that would have just been crazy,” Sam nodded. “Could you do those while we head out to Rhode Island?”

 _“What?"_ Dean snapped to face him.

“I said—"

“I know— No—" Dean clenched a fist near his face. He pointed a hand at Ketch. "You wanna leave _him_  here. Alone. In the bunker. While we go to Rhode Island?”

“I—” Sam started to answer, then pulled back to think about it. “Yes?”

Ketch raised an eyebrow at Dean. “What exactly are you worried about?”

“You’re gonna— just _be_ here! With all our shit!” Dean sputtered. “What am I _not_ worried about?”

“Unless you’ve aquired some new items in the past year I already know this bunker top to bottom,” Ketch said as he picked up Dean's mug once more. “It’s not as though I’m going to go snooping _again_.”

“Remind me why I’m not shooting you?”

“Dean,” Sam warned.

“Look, what if... What if... He could lock us out!”

“And upset my only protection?” Ketch took a sarcastic sip of his coffee.

Dean opened his mouth—

“My only _unwilling_ and _highly conditional_ protection,” he amended.

Dean shut it again, clenching his jaw.

“I know this isn't… it's not exactly our _norm,_ but I have a vested interest in keeping you happy enough to let me stay here, so—” he took another sip, “—so frankly, I’d advise you to take advantage of it.”

Dean’s jaw only tightened while Ketch just stood there, calmly drinking  _his_ coffee out of _his_ mug, right in front of him. He dropped a fist on the counter, “Fine!”

He poured Sam a cup from the pot, slid it across the island at him— spilling more than he delivered— and stormed out of the kitchen, back to his room to start packing.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The driver's licenses were finished.

It was the only thing Sam could focus on as he made an effort to clean up the kitchen after breakfast. The licenses were finished, ready to go, just sitting out there in the library. They weren't doing anyone any good there, right? Really, it would be best to get them to the selkies as soon as possible. 

You know, for their sake.

He tossed the last of the silverware in a drawer, squeezed his eyes shut against the sound, and left to pack for their trip. He ran down his to-do list as he crossed the library: all the usual supplies plus a few more changes of clothes, tell Ketch how to monitor the electrical system before they left, this was probably going to be a long one, so he might as well bring the big bottles of conditioner. Dean would call Cas to tell him where they were going, if he hadn't alrea—

Sam stopped in the middle of the hall, having just passed Dean's door. He doubled back on what he saw and— no, he'd been right the first time, Dean was pacing back and forth, gripping his hair and grumbling under his breath, his bag half-packed on the bed.

With a hint of caution padding his concern, Sam leaned in and knocked on the door frame.

Dean stopped in his tracks, snapping up to face him, suddenly a deer in the headlights.

“Hey,” Sam said, looking him up and down, “you okay?”

Dean let his hands fall to his sides, shuffling a bit and dropping his eyes to the floor. “M’fine, Sam. Just— pissed at fucking Ketch. Go on and pack.”

 _"Mm,_ no,” Sam said, entering Dean’s room instead. “This isn't what being 'pissed at fucking Ketch' looks like. What’s wrong, man?”

Dean let his eyes shut with a sigh. _"Ugh,_ son of a..." He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. "You know sometimes I really hate…” he gestured between them.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said with a little smile. “Come on, what’s up, Dean?”

Dean bumped a fist to his mouth as his other hand went to his hip. His eyes fell shut again. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again...

Oh shit, this was something big.

“Hey, um, you wanna sit?” Sam offered.

He gave a jerky nod and went to sit on the edge of his bed as Sam closed the door. Sam took the chair Dean kept in the corner, and pulled it over before sitting himself.

Dean twisted his hands around each other, still not saying anything.

So Sam offered him a place to start. “Bet you wish _you’d_ put this damn necklace on, now, huh?” he cracked. “Could just force it out, right?”

Dean gave him a shaky smile. “Yeah, maybe,” he huffed. He winced at the laugh. “Shit. Really wish I didn’t have this damn headache.”

Sam chuckled, rubbing at his own temple, “Yeah, me too.”

Dean took a deep breath and pulled himself up, his hands sliding up his thighs as he did. “Look, um, I kinda… I wanna tell you somethin’.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, alright,” he said simply. Best not to push him now that things were moving.

“But you gotta… You can’t laugh.”

“What? Why would I laugh?”

“Because you’re my shithead little brother,” Dean said with a weak smile.

“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding again, “yeah, I am, Dean.”

Dean bit his lip and ducked his head.

He propped his elbows on his thighs, running his hands over his face and his hair. “Shit, I dunno if I should just blurt this out or, like, build you up to it.”

Gut churning and chest clenching, Sam asked him, “What’s easier for you?”

“Fuck,” Dean sighed, shaking his head against his palms.

He brought himself back up, sitting straight up and slapping his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Fuck. Okay, I’m— I’m not— I might be—”

Sam raised his eyebrows and waited.

Dean closed his eyes and spread his palms. “I think I might be bi.”

Sam blinked. He fell back against his chair. “Oh.” 

Dean’s eyes snapped open, jaw dropping and his forehead creasing, _“‘ Oh’?”_

“Shit, dude, I meant— that’s great! I mean—” Sam leaned forward again. “Shit, Dean, I thought you were going to tell me somebody died, o-or you were leaving or— something.”

"What? No, I—" Dean’s face fell from anger to confusion. “Wait, you’re... You’re really not laughing. Or freaking out.”

“What? Of course not! This is way too… Yeah, no, of course not."

Dean's whole body visibly relaxed, practically sagging with relief. "Okay," he said over a quiet exhale, "Fuck. Yeah. Okay..."

A beat passed in silence, then Sam cleared his throat. "So, um— So how long?”

Dean gave a small shrug, “I dunno, my whole life basically?”

“What?" Sam jerked back. "And you didn’t think you could tell me until now?”

“What? No— Well— I mean... I mean I didn’t really _know_ until…”

Sam put the pieces together, “Until two nights ago.”

“Well, um... Yeah.” 

Sam chuffed. “Well, alright, that all makes a lot more sense now," he said with a genuine smile. “So how’s it feel?”

“What?”

“To know? I mean, if this has been a thing for forever, how’s it feel to know what it is?”

“It’s…” Dean shook his head, “it’s fuckin’ weird, man. But... it's also not. Which is fuckin' weird.”

Sam laughed now, just a little bit.

Dean smiled in return. “Hey, you promised, bitch.”

Sam stood from his chair and closed the few steps to his brother, pulling him up into a hug.

“Shut up, jerk.”

Dean hugged him back, hard, and gave a long, relieved sigh over Sam’s shoulder.

“Alright, alright," Dean thumped him on the back and pushed him away. "Now get the hell out of here and go pack already.”

Sam couldn't stop a smile as he went to the door, “Yeah, okay, Dean. Good to see you're already back to your asshole self.”

"Fuck off, I'm a delight."

"Right, 'course you are," Sam chucked. He returned the chair to its place against the wall, and went to leave the room.

Then something clicked, and he froze, one hand still on the door frame.

“You didn’t know.”

Dean looked up from the shirt he had started folding. “What?”

“You didn’t know,” Sam had to say again. He turned back to Dean, eyes wide and mind reeling. “Oh my god, you— you didn’t know.”

Dean dropped the shirt onto his duffel and took a step toward him. “Didn't know what? What're you talking about?”

“The mixt—” he started, but Sam cut himself off. No-no-no-no— This was  _not_ his conversation to have. But the necklace demanded an answer, yanking at his tongue, “You just— You didn’t know— All this time—” he stuttered.

“What. the _hell._ are you talking about?”

"Stop  _asking—!"_

"Sam—!"

"You do  _not_  want me to tell you!” he finally burst.

The necklace accepted this truth.

Dean glanced down at the amulet, and seemed to accept it, too. “Okay... If you’re really sure.”

_“Very.”_

Dean nodded minutely. He turned back to finish packing his bag. “...Alright.”

Sam spun on his heel and practically ran to his own room.

 

———

 

Dean shook his head at Sam's retreating footsteps, confused, but finding himself unable to dwell on it in the slightest. Something light, and bright, and undeniably _awesome_ was welling up in his chest, and Dean found he couldn't hold it back. Didn't even want to.

Because that hadn’t gone half bad.

Sam hadn't laughed. Sam hadn't freaked out. Sam... almost didn’t _care._ Except for whatever had short-circuited in his head before he left, that whole thing had gone better than Dean could have ever hoped.

He barked out a laugh, it hurt his head but he really couldn't care. Maybe today could be a good day after all. Yeah, fuck Ketch and his stupid asylum bullshit, fuck Crowley and his dumbass gifts; Dean had come out to his brother and everything had gone perfectly.

He got properly dressed and swung his duffel over his shoulder, whistling his silly earworm to himself as he strolled down the hallway to wait for Sam in the library. He was flying high, sitting pretty on cloud-freakin’- _ten,_  and everything was great,and Sam was great, and this was gonna be the best trip they’d ever—

 

“Good morning, Dean.”

 

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. 

Gripping the strap of his bag with fingers quickly turning white, his heart lodged firmly in his throat, he slowly turned to his right—

 

And found Cas.

 

Just Cas, seated at one of the library's tables, looking just as pleased as could be.

“Good—” Dean swallowed. “Good morning.”

Cas tipped his head at the bag on Dean’s shoulder. “Are we going somewhere?” he asked, “Is there a case?”

Dean stared. He couldn’t stop staring, why was he staring? “We, um— yeah, we—” He managed to blink. “There’s a, ah… a thing. And... um...” He trailed off, not that that sentence ever had an ending.

Cas squinted at him. “...A thing?”

“Yeah, the um—” Dean licked his lips and tried to swallow again. It hurt, his mouth now completely dry. “The Seal. The Seal thing.”

“The Seal of Solomon or the Selkies?”

“Yes.”

Cas managed to squint even further. “That wasn’t a yes or no question.”

“I— Um—" Dean forced himself to stop nodding. When had he started nodding? "Right. Yeah.”

His brain chose that moment to kick-start and revved itself straight into the red zone. How long had Cas been there? Didn’t he have super-hearing? Oh god, he had super-hearing. Did he hear what Dean just told Sam? Wait, why did Dean even care?

“I have to—!” Dean blurted out. He took a step backwards. “I— I have to—”

He bolted, flat-out sprinting back down the hall. He made it to his room, slammed the door behind him, and threw the lock. He barely dropped his bag to the floor before his hands flew up to his hair.

_Hey, remember—_

No! No, I don’t! And I don’t want to hear it!

_Sure. Remember the first time you ever saw Cas? Remember how it just set your heart a-flutterin'?_

I was scared for my  _life—_

_Remember when Cas came back from Purgatory?  When he finally had his coat and his dorky little tie back? You got a fucking boner, man_

That was _not_ a—

_Remember when you made Cas that mixtape? Remember how bummed you were when he never mentioned it again? When he tried to give it back? Remember how pissed Sam was when he found out about it? _

That was just—

_Remember how the Darkness tried to wrap around your heart, but she couldn't quite get a grip?_

She just—

_Remember when Cas ditched you in Purgatory and you just had to find him? How it crushed you when you couldn't get him out?_

I just—

_Remember every single time he's gotten in trouble since then? How scared you were? How fucking terrified you were every single fucking time?_

Stop...

_Remember when Cas had a wife? Remember that feeling?_

No, stop...

_Ohh, remember when Cas fucking died? Remember how that fucking felt? _

Stop! _Stop!_ Fucking _stop!_

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw to the point of pain and trying just to breathe. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening—

_Hey, remember when Cas gave up an army for you?_

No—

_Remember when Cas offered to go with you to kill Amara?_

No, no—

_Remember when you got back from that and Cas almost suffocated you in that hug?_

No-no-no, stop! _Stop!_

_Hey_

What? Fucking  _what?_

 

 

_...remember when Cas said ‘I love you'?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then, end of the first half, huh! Seems like a good time for a breather. Maybe talk about some shit, you know? Like friends. We’re still friends so far, right? Well, we’ll see when you finish. 
> 
> This might be a good time to let you know, my dear friend and reader, that this is probably going to be a six Part series. Probably even longer than that, but this first major plot-arc is six Parts.  
> I *do* promise resolutions eventually, I promise and swear I will not string you along forever.
> 
> But besides that, you know what else is fun? I kinda hope this isn’t how shit goes down in canon. Now, I love the idea of Dean Doesn’t Know enough that I’m writing tens of thousands of words on it, but in canon, a big part of me hopes that it’s just kind of… there. The bisexual thing and the Cas thing. Not a big huge reveal, or a big dramatic moment of realization, just a “yeah… that’s how it is.”  
> But then again, I’ll be terribly upset if The Big Destiel moment doesn’t involve shattering light bulbs, you know? XD
> 
> Well, you’ve probably rested enough by now. Thank you for joining me in this little intermission, see you again at the end!


	6. Chapter 6

_“...Whoa-oa-oa-oa, doin’ me dirty,_  
_Whoa-oa-oa-oa, tellin’ me lies,_  
_Whoa-oa-oa-oa, you are not worthy,_  
_Tellin’ myself for the last time,_

 _'Cause nothin' good comes after midnight!  
_ _(Nothin' good comes after midnight)...”_

Bris scoffed at the music playing above her. “T’ain’t nowhere nears midnight, ye thick floozie,” she mumbled into her drink.

It was dark and smokey in the bar she'd landed at today, the “No Smoking” sticker on the front door apparently meaning about as much to these alcos as money to a pig. Not that Bris minded in the slightest. In fact, she kinda wished the pubs back home woulda had the same attitude with their own smoking ban. Aye, you got used to the change, but nothing made a pub as much of a pub as the smell of bines mixing with the rumbling chatter, floating up off the counter tops scuffed by lashings of peeled bastards drowning their troubles, coating the wood paneled walls in layers of grime older than she was…

Fuckin' hell, there she went again, pining for home.

She downed the last of her glass and waved the bartender over. He barely acknowledged her as he poured her another.

Home. Little villages on the coast, high cliffs and craggy rocks, the salty ocean crashing against the shore... Not like this fucking place. All roads and cars and shitty strip malls and too-quiet bars and tall, handsome men who want nothing more than to pull you into their arms and—

Fuck. Cut that out.

Another swig off her drink and her thoughts turned sour. Why was she even still here, anyway? She could probably get home on her own if she really tried hard enough. Could probably swim out across the Great Lakes, right out to the ocean, and make her way back home from there. She’d have to go ‘round by… fuck, Canada, Greenland... probably a stop in Iceland... Huh, might be able to fit in a visit to her grandmother’s branch of the family—

_...nary a goodbye in the wind...!_

Bris growled in the back of her throat. What the fuck did Inas know?

She gripped her glass and sighed. Plenty. Inas knew plenty. Obviously, since here she was, planning to run off again, just like they'd said.

But wouldn't it be different this time? Not running  _off,_ not running  _to,_ more like running  _away._ From streets that were too wide, from hills that were too flat, from stinking waters, and dark cages, and gorgeous eyes that shone with more colors than she'd ever—

Fuck _off_. Told you to stop.

She took a deep pull off her glass. Fuck him. Fuck this place. Fuck—

A man plunked down on a bar stool a little off to her left, catching her ear before he caught her eye.

She spared him a glance, and couldn't help the appreciative eyebrow she raised. The man turned to face her and flashed an answering smile. She allowed her gaze to drop to his chest, and that eyebrow ticked higher.

—Fuck _that_.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“ _Want to tell you ‘bout the girl I love,  
My, she looks so fine… _ ”

The radio filled the uneasy silence as they drove east through Missouri. It had been hours since any of them had spoken, not since back at the bunker when Sam had told Cas about Gabriel. Cas had been elated, of course, but had also delivered the unfortunate news that he wouldn't be able to get them into Hell. Not alone. Evidently it takes an entire garrison of angels to get in uninvited, much less to leave again, so they were just going to have to wait and see if Crowley would help.

Maybe that's what was souring the mood, but Sam was unconvinced. There was something... weird surrounding the three of them in the Impala: Dean was on edge and Cas was being, well, Cas-ier than usual. With Dean, Sam could at least guess that he might be nervous about maybe coming out to Cas as well, but with Cas… well Sam had no idea there.

But if Sam was honest, he wasn’t actually concerned about that right now. See, there was a particular highway coming up, and he had yet to broach a certain topic with Dean.

“Hey, Dean—”

“What!” Dean jumped, jerking the steering wheel.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “Just wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh.” He relaxed. A little. “Yeah, sure, shoot.”

“Do you think…”

“... _I got a woman, she won’t be true, no,_ ”

“Think what?”

“ _I got a woman, stay drunk all the time,_ ”

“Could we maybe—”

“ _I said I got a little woman and she won’t be—_ ”

Sam switched the radio off.

“Hey!”

“Calm down, we’ll put the tape in later,” Sam said. “Could we make a stop on the way to Rhode Island?”

A twitch at Dean's mouth cracked through his tension. "Oh, a stop, huh?"

"Yeah, um, in Chicago."

"Chicago."

"Yeah, Chicago," Sam turned a tight-lipped frown on him. "You know, since the ID's are ready. I, ah— I brought them with. Thought the selkies might like to have them sooner than later. You know... as long as we're passing through."

Dean bobbed his head with a nod, not taking his eyes off the road. "You bring a boombox to lift above your head, too?"

"What—?" Sam ticked back. "No, I—!" 

"No, yeah, I'm pretty sure I've even got a Peter Gabriel tape down there you can borrow—"

"Peter Gabriel? No, I don't need a—!" 

"Hey, look, look, I get it, man," Dean said, glancing over at Sam. "Believe me, I get it."

Sam's frown only deepened, his shoulders slumping as he turned back to his window. "Fine, nevermind. We won't stop."

"I didn't say that." 

Sam whipped to face him again.

“Guess you didn’t notice I’m already a hundred miles north of where I really need to be," Dean said with a smirk.

Sam couldn't help but mirror his smile. With a huffed little laugh, he gladly turned the radio back on and settled back into his seat.

“— _Hey, hey, what can I do?  
__A-keep on-a, keep on-a, keep on-a, hey, hey!_...”

 

———

 

This was going to be the worst trip they had ever been on.

The moment of calm Dean had found in giving Sam shit didn't last nearly long enough. Within minutes of the conversation ending, Dean was back to snatching furtive glances in the rearview mirror; but not because he had the sudden urge to be as safe as possible or anything, no, no.

But because _Cas_ was there.

Cas wasn’t supposed to be back. He hadn’t called. Hadn’t even texted. He'd just _shown_ up, and _waltzed_ in, and said _'good morning, Dean'._

Fucker.

It had taken Dean so long to leave his room that Sam had to come and knock on his door. At least by then he'd gotten himself under control. Well, mostly. It couldn't be helped if he was still a little jumpy, right? After all, they were headed out on this long trip and Sam was gonna get his shot with his girl and who even _knew_ what could happen out at this chapter hou—

Shit

Dean had caught Cas's eye in the mirror. He locked his gaze back on the road, and didn’t look again for the rest of the trip.

 

~*~*~*~

 

They stopped for gas at some tiny station in some tiny town, surrounded by corn and soybeans and endless gray sky. As he waited, Sam took advantage of the break to step out of the car and make a phone call.

It rang for a long time before Direl answered.

“ _Hello, Sam,_ ” he greeted him curtly.

“Um, hey, Direl. Everything okay?”

“ _Oh sure, happy as clams over here,_ ” he snapped.

“Okay…” Sam said slowly. “Hey, um... So the driver's licenses are done."

_"Oh, yeah?"_

"Yeah and, ah, and Dean and I have a job out east, and we’re kind of passing through. So we thought we’d stop by. To drop them off.”

Direl didn’t answer right away. “ _I’m… not certain that’s a good idea._ ”

Sam’s heart plummeted. “Well— why not? Is something wrong?”

 _“It’s not anythin’ like— It’s not like last time, alright? We’re not in trouble or nothin’ just... maybe you shouldn’t come right now._ ”

“Direl, come on, you've got to tell me what’s wrong or I can't—”

“ _I don’t gotta do_ _nothin ', Sam the Hunter. _”

Sam recoiled from the phone, looking questioningly at it before returning it to his ear. “Dude, what was that?”

Direl sighed. “ _Look. Sam. I just don’t think you should come.”_

“But _why,_ Direl?” 

He voice came strained through a clenched jaw. “ _Well... because you've stirred up a bit of a crisis of faith, here, boyo._ ”

“I... I have?”

“ _Yeah. Ye have. K_ _inda fucked us all up with that ‘I've met God’ shit_.”

“I… Direl I really have.”

“ _Look, I get why you'd say that to Bris but you don't gots to impress me—_ ”

“But I _have,_  Direl, I—” He dropped a hand on the roof of the car. “Oh!” He slapped his chest. “Yes. Okay! Direl, the necklace. The necklace is cursed. I have to tell the truth.”

“ _What necklace?_ ”

“What necklace—” Sam rolled his eyes to the sky, “The one I've been wearing for weeks! I can't take it off. That's—” he tried to remember what all they had told Direl, “That’s what we broke the bolt cutters on. Look, it’s cursed. I’m cursed. I had to tell her the truth, and even if I didn't I wouldn't lie to her.”

“ _Sam, I don't—_ ”

“Ask me something. Ask me something I'd never want to tell you, I have to answer you.”

The line was quiet for a moment. Finally Direl asked, “ _Do you love my cousin?_ ”

Sam froze.

For the first time since he put the damn thing over his head, he and the necklace didn't have an answer.

So he answered for himself.

“I don’t know.”

Direl went quiet again.

 _*Fuck…*_ he breathed. _“You must be cursed to tell the man standin’ between you an’ her you don’t even know...”_

Sam shut his eyes and rested his fist on the roof. “Are you guys still in Wilmot?”

“ _Ah... no. No,”_ Direl fumbled. _“Nah, we, ah, we moved south. We’re past a place called Plano. Some nature park.”_

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Direl."

_“Jaysus, yeah. No problem, mate.”_

Sam hung up and pulled up his map.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Bris stared at the ceiling of Simon’s apartment.

It hadn’t been… bad. Really, it was perfectly fine. But that wasn't the part Bris was anticipating.

“Damn,” Simon rolled back over, “I don’t know about you but I could get used to that.”

She tipped her head to him, hopeful despite the bite of malcontent edging around her chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, fuck, that was great.”

Her hope dipped a little. “Yeah?” she prompted, glancing at his chest.

His eyes darted between hers. “Um, yeah,” he faltered.

“Oh.”

“Hey, um,” he perked up, reaching over the space between them to run a finger down her arm, “would you, ah, be up for a round two?”

Bris sighed through her nose. 

“No, dear, I don’t think I am.” She left the bed to gather her clothes.

“Oh.” His face fell.

He watched her for a moment. “I’m sorry, did I do something?”

Bris sighed as she slipped into her shirt. “No. It’s nothin’ you did at all.”

It was nothin' any of them did. For a month she'd been trying this, and for a month she'd had nothing but a string of empty disappointment.

She rounded the bed and kissed this one on the forehead. “Thanks for the romp, though,” she said.

And she left without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this Chapter:
> 
> After Midnight - Dorothy  
> [Lyrics](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/dorothy/aftermidnight.html) ~ [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/217LuteR9uZbrD0Z1FYkt0?si=TV9lX2qmTT2yhYVK4uEwKg)
> 
> Hey Hey What Can I Do - Led Zeppelin  
> [Lyrics](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/ledzeppelin/heyheywhatcanido.html) ~[Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/16VhHtoaOjTU4AJBNSBNQ1?si=co6dRGs9SWeODGkJw91tcw)


	7. Chapter 7

They pulled up at Silver Springs State Park in the early evening, the barest hints of orange just starting to color the thick clouds. Dean killed the engine and turned in his seat, but the echo of _"What is and What Should Never Be"_ had barely faded from the speakers before Sam had already leapt out of the car. He slammed his door behind him, visibly flinched at it, and had already grabbed the box of ID's and turned toward the path when Dean caught up and grabbed him by the arm.

“Hey-hey-hey, _easy_ , tiger,” Dean said. “Don't just go rushin' on in there.”

Sam yanked his arm free, glaring at Dean.

“Come on, you’re gonna look over-eager,” Dean coached, “You gotta play this cool if you want it to go well.”

“Yeah, because I’m going to take relationship advice from you.” Sam rolled his eyes. Then he seemed to realize what he said and cringed.

Dean drew back with a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Sam sighed, cringing again. “Damn it— It means... It means... I... don't think you're so good at relationships," he answered, then immediately turned and left down the path, leaving Dean to just blink over a puzzled frown after him.

“It seems as though that necklace is aiding your communication with Sam.” 

A cold sweat broke out on Dean’s neck. Cas had apparently come around the car and was now standing right next to him. “Um— yeah. Probably. Sure,” Dean stammered, and took off after Sam.

As he walked— _calmly,_ dammit— Dean forcefully reminded himself that they were here for Sam’s thing. They had no time for his own personal brand of bullshit. Just don’t think about it, he thought, and maybe they could get through this trip in one piece. They'd do this, stop off in Rhode Island, and then he’d make it back to the bunker and could lock himself in his room for the next forever and a half.

_Sure, that’s a plan. But we could also— hear me out— ONLY think about it._

Dean gritted his teeth through a groan.

He managed to stay a few feet ahead of Cas the entire way down the path, eventually leading them to an open spread of lawn, wilted and dull green with the winter cold, that ended at a little beach at the riverside where a few selkies were fiddling with something over a fire. Old weathered picnic tables dotted the area, each one occupied by boisterous groups who all seemed to be in the middle of a competition to decide who could speak over the other the loudest.

Sam was already there, having fallen into a conversation with Direl and a shorter, older selkie. Though from the look on Direl’s face, perhaps Sam hadn’t so much fallen into conversation with them as he had been intercepted.

“...just not the right time for this, darlin’,” the older selkie was saying.

“I just thought you'd like to have these licenses—"

“Look, I know I toldja where we was but I shouldn’t’a. I'm sorry, Sam," said Direl. 

“Maybe I could just—”

“Please, dearie,” the older selkie said, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. They turned to Direl, “You know, think I could do with a walk. Would you just excuse us, lad?”

They hooked their arm into Sam’s and steered him around, taking him back up the path.

Dean watched them go with a raised eyebrow. “Who’s that?” he asked Direl.

Direl sighed and turned to him and Cas. “That's Inas," he said. "An' knowin’ them you won’t be gettin’ your brother back anytime soon. You, ah…” He looked back to the beach. “You wanna stay a while? Get some supper?” he asked reluctantly.

Dean smiled for the first time since this morning. “Free dinner? Oh hell yeah.”

———

From the grip of this elderly, yet surprisingly strong, selkie, Sam implicitly realized that this 'request' for a walk was anything but.

They strolled in silence for a while, purposefully, but not too fast, surrounded by the soft whistle of the wind through the bare branches of the trees and the thick understory. They walked. And they walked. And Sam was just about to speak up when they apparently reached whatever point this selkie was waiting for.

“I want you to know I’m rootin’ for ye, lad,” they finally said.

Sam looked down at them. “Thank you?”

“Don’t thank me yet,” they replied, almost coldly. “I ain't finished.”

Sam shut up and watched the path again.

“Do you know how old I am, boy?”

Sam didn't even know who this selkie _was._ “Um... No...” he answered, leaving a possible ‘sir’ unsaid.

The selkie's mouth twitched up in the corner. “Let’s just say your plight reminds me of a play I saw once. Star crossed-lovers, only knowed each other for a night... Saw the first run in London with my husband at the time, God rest his soul." They shot Sam a sidelong look, "Talk ‘round here says you’re a smart lad, I’m sure ye follow.”

Sam absolutely did follow, and if he wasn’t busy preparing himself for a verbal lashing he would be planning how he could sit this selkie down with a notepad and ask them questions until they both went hoarse.

They must have caught his trepidation, as they raised a hand to pat his arm in a soothing gesture. “That ended up bein’ a lovely night," they said. "London used to be so much easier to get around, ye know, more crowded and so _loud,_ but it were smaller, manageable-like. Though I will tell ye, the smell has _vastly_ improved," they said over a breathy chuckle, their gaze heading off into what must have been a pleasant memory.

"Thing is, though," they continued, a frown coming to the edge of their expression, "I didn't much like the endin’ a’ that one. _Sure_ it’s in the title, it’s a tragedy right straight, but it weren't somethin’ I found I much enjoyed. Everyone rushin' about an' shovin' each other, pushin' so fast before anyone was ready to deal with their troubles— I found it awfully stressful— all that pain leadin' to nothin' but disaster— it just weren't the kind of endin' I like to see in a story. So you can imagine that when I see the signs of somethin’ like that brewin', especially fer my own kin, that I’m gonna find it necessary to step in. ”

Sam drew a breath to respond, he was only here to—

“I’m not finished.”

He shut his mouth.

“The two of you didn't go about this the easy way, ye burned hot and ye ran rough, an' now yer dealin' with the consequences a' that." They gave him another sly glance, "I can see why she likes you, there's a fierce fire hiddin' inside ye there,” they said, their eyes sparkling. “You've obviously got a good heart in ye, an’ I think you’ll do right by her, but this just ain't the right way to go about it."

Sam waited until he was sure he was being given the opening to speak. "I told her I would come back to help you all. I always intended to, even before the demons kidnapped you again."

"Aye, I remember. She said you was gonna help us get home. And ye are. And we're mighty grateful. But we both know that's not what this is about. And frankly I'm disappointed."

"You're—"

"A surprise visit after a month? Ye really thought that would go over well?"

"I— Well, she called me and—"

"Aye, she did. But I know fer a fact she didn't ask to see you. An' I know fer a fact she ain't ready to see you. Really, what did you think were gonna happen here, you'd show up outta the blue an' she'd take you right in, no questions asked?"

"No, of course not! I just— I mean, I—"

"Ye didn't think of it like that, I know. I can see it written across ye plain as day, you got your hopes up an' ye jumped the gun."

Sam averted his eyes to ground.

"M'sure a man like you ain't asked to wait very often," they said, "but she asked ye then, an' I'm askin' ye now. Show the lass some respect an' keep your patience. You’re not the only thing in her life, ye know.”

Sam pursed his lips and swallowed. Of course he knew that, but he'd pushed this anyway. How could he have been so—?

“Speakin’ o’ which,” the selkie turned to Sam with a grin. “Why doncha tell me a little about God an’ his sister, eh?”

———

Direl led Dean and Cas toward the river through the crowd of gathered selkies. As they approached, they could now see the _dobthar-chú_ as well, all curled together in a sleek knot at the edge of the water, sleeping in a quiet heap while a few selkies used them as backrests. Dean eyed them warily, but somehow found the beasts less terrifying than before.

They stopped where the lawn turned to sand, where a group of selkies was fiddling with some sort of meat roasting over their fire.

Direl shifted his shoulders and cleared his throat. “So you’ve got a thing out east, huh?”

“Yeah, um, got somethin’ to check out,” Dean answered. “No big deal.”

“You're drivin’ across this ungodly huge country for ‘no big—'?” Direl's gaze had flicked to Dean's chest. “Whoa.”

“Yeah! _Hah!"_  Dean barked. "It’s about two days drive but work’s been real thin and—!” 

“What the heck happened to you?” Direl asked, blowing right past Dean’s feeble efforts.

Cas narrowed his eyes and looked to Dean’s chest as well, sending Dean's mind reeling in an effort to remember the exact scope of Cas’s angel mojo. He couldn’t see what selkies see, right? He would have mentioned that, right?

“Nothing!” Dean answered too quickly. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. So what’s cookin’ anyway?”

“It looks like you… but you’re also…” Direl’s brow furrowed and his eyes widened further, “But you’re… _not?_ ”

Dean was about to ask about the freakin’ _weather_ they’d been having when one of the selkies on the edge of the gathering shouted out:

“Hey, lookit there! It’s Dean the Hunter!”

A cheer rose up from the crowd; various shouts of “Get tha’ man a beer!” coming from every corner.

With untold relief, Dean stepped forward into the throng of selkies that materialized around him and accepted the first beer he was given.

Direl frowned. He turned to Cas, and his eyes popped wide again.  _"Jaysus_ _,_  an’ you look more cobbled than ever!”

Before Cas could say anything, another selkie in the crowd gasped, “Fuck, ye eejits! Castiel is back, too!”

The crowd erupted around Dean, causing him to reflexively duck at the sudden roar. He looked back over his shoulder to see the selkies surge around Cas, pushing Direl back as they swarmed him. Multiple drinks were thrust at him at once and it seemed like at least half the selkies were trying to shake his hand at the same time.

Cas searched out Dean in the crowd, eyes wide and pleading.

Dean took a breath, steeled himself, and set off through the excitement.

“Hey, _hey!"_  he shouted. “Alright, come on—  _come on,_ at least let him sit!” He took Cas by the arm and dragged him away from the crowd, and together they found some stumps that had been placed by the fire. The crowd followed them over.

"Howya, boyo!" "Have another beer!" "Can we get ye a bite?"

In a way that Dean was sure only Cas could, he managed to sit stiffly straight and shrink into himself at the same time. There were claps to his back coming in from all sides, he accepted a drumstick of something from someone, the shouts were reaching deafening levels and Dean was a moment away from putting a protective arm around his shoulder when:

_“Ciúin!”_

At that familiar booming voice, the crowd immediately calmed, and backed away.

The selkies parted to allow Ballo to stride forward, arms spread wide and smiling wider. With their relief evident on their faces, Dean and Cas stood as he approached.

“Dean the Hunter!” he shouted and pulled Dean into a crushing hug. “And Castiel the Hunter Angel!” He hugged Cas just as strongly. “What’re ye doin’ here, lads? We got more demons to slay?”

Dean noticed the flush in his cheeks and the nearly empty bottle in his hand. “Nah, just visiting,” he answered.

“Jus’ visitin’?”

“Yeah, Sam— uh...” If Direl was any guide, the actual purpose of their visit wasn’t going to be taken very well, but Dean hadn’t thought up another excuse yet.

“Sam’s here too?” Ballo boomed. “That’s fantastic!”

“Yeah, well—”

 _“Ahh_ , no, wait, no it’s not.” Ballo’s face fell. _“Ah,_ fuck, he’s not already here, is he?”

“Well, someone named Inas took him—”

“Ahh, _Inas!”_ Ballo was back to booming. _“A taisce!_ What would I do without them? Alright, let’s get you lads fed and watered and we’ll send you on your way when they get back, yeah?”

A few of the selkies groaned.

“I’ll have no backtalkin’, now!” Ballo smiled at them all. “You all know it’s fer the best. Now where’d I leave my Black Stuff?” He said, and turned and wandered off.

The crowd calmed down after that, but it still seemed that every selkie wanted to shake Cas’s hand. “Hey, have another drink, Castiel!” “Thank you, _thank_ you, Mister Hunter Angel!” “You still hungry, Castiel?”

Eventually Dean couldn’t let it slide anymore. He raised an eyebrow at Cas. “‘The Hunter Angel’?” he asked.

Cas ducked his head, tipping the scale from sitting straight toward shrinking, “They originally wanted to go with ‘Angel Hunter’, but I told them that could be taken the wrong way.”

Dean tried not to, but he snorted.

The corner of Cas’s mouth twitched up.

 

Shit

 

Dean turned away, suddenly becoming fascinated with the drink he’d been given.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas shrink just a little bit more.

 

~*~*~*~

 

It felt like hours before Sam got back, although that was probably just because Dean was so focused on controlling his own heartbeat. Finally, though, he saw Sam searching for them over the heads of the crowd and waved him over to the fire. He and Cas stood as Sam and Inas approached them.

“Looks like we gotta get outta here,” Dean said to Sam.

“So I’ve heard.” Sam glanced at the drink in Dean’s hand, “Are you gonna be okay to—”

“Lads!”

Ballo was back, rosier than ever with a demeanor to match. He swaggered up next to Sam and threw an arm up around his shoulders. Direl wasn't far behind, and when he reached the group Dean saw him glance at Sam’s chest, too. His eyes flew wide yet again.

“What’re you lot still doin’ here?” Ballo asked.

“They was just leavin’, Ballo,” Inas answered.

Ballo hung heavily from Sam and swung forward to peek around him.  _“Inas,_ love! _There_ ye are!” He released Sam and went to Inas, draping his arm around their shoulders now. He turned back to the group, his smile brighter than the fire, “‘Ave I introduced ye ta Inas yet?”

“Yes we’ve—” Sam tried.

 _"This_ is _Inas,”_ Ballo cut him off, beaming.

Inas, clearly humoring him, extended their hand to the three hunters, “I can’t thank you enough for everythin’ you’ve done for our family.”

“Um, no problem,” Dean murmured as he shook their hand. He was staring.

“Alrigh' then, tha’s settled. Now go on, hit the road!” Ballo cuffed Sam affectionately. Sam winced sharply from it.

“This one’s obviously fluthered,” Inas patted Ballo’s chest, “might need a kip before we moves again tonight. So goodnight, boys, I do hope to see ye again soon.” They pushed Ballo off, but turned back to Sam. "Remember now, slow an' steady, lad. It'll happen, at the right time, when the two of you'vegot your heads on straight and you're _both_ ready for it."

"What's that yer spoutin' there,  _mhuirnín?"_

"Nothin', Ballo, come on now," they said, and slipped an arm around his waist to steer him off into the crowd.

Dean continued to stare after them as they left. He elbowed Direl, “So is Inas, like… a dude?” he guessed.

“Dean!” Sam glared at him.

“What?”

Direl made a face. “What? Inas is Inas,” he raised an eyebrow at Dean.

“Yeah, but is he… is she…”

“Oh my _god,_ shut up, Dean,” Sam groaned.

Direl was still lost, “What're you…?” then understanding dawned. “Oh. Well, our word is  _aiteach_ _,_ but I'm not sure how to translate that for you.”

“Thanks, you don't have to,” Sam cut in, taking Dean by the arm and pulling him along. “We’ll just get going now. See you later, Direl.”

“G'bye, lads. Watch yer step there, it’s gettin’ dark,” Direl called after them.

Sam flashed a smile back to him and dragged Dean away.

Cas followed close behind. A few of his admirers waved and shouted their goodbyes as he passed. Cas just shrugged into himself, shoving his hands into his pockets bashfully.

Once they got back to the car, Dean got as far as starting the engine when he realized he had no idea where they were going.

“So... are we sticking around or what?”

Sam slumped into his seat. “No,” he answered. “Let’s just get out to the chapter house.”

“We’ve been driving all day, you should probably rest,” Cas noted.

Sam mumbled his agreement and pulled out his phone. “Looks like there’s a motel just south of a town called Fox, but—”

 _“Do not_ start with that again,” Dean grumbled as he put her in reverse.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just head south.”

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

That night, Bris returned to her family just as they were putting out their fire and cleaning up the beach. As she removed her coat and stepped out of the river, one of her cousins called out to her.

“Hey, Bris! Shoulda got back sooner, ye missed yer handsome Hunter!”

An aunt standing beside him elbowed him in the ribs.

Her stomach dropped. But before she could say anything, Direl had rushed over to her. 

 _"Lass,_ yer back!” He clapped her on the shoulder. “Hey- _ahh_ , didja have fun wherever you went?” 

Bris spun on him. “He were  _here?"_

“Well— yes, but—”

“An’ he didn’t _wait?”_

“Well— He _wanted_ to, but we... we sent him off?” His voice pull high with his worried brows.

“You  _what?"_

Inas appeared at her elbow. “We sent him off, love.”

“Yeah!” Direl said, bolstered by Inas. “We didn’t think you’d wanna see him!”

“Wha— Well... Well I don’t!” Bris blustered.

"We just— Wait, ye don’t?" Direl drew back.

“No! No— obviously— a’course not! No!"

Inas placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Try to have patience, love. The Lord will bring you clarity when you're ready.”

“Right, of course, the Lord that ain't here," Bris snapped as she pulled away. 

“We don't know that, love. The Lord works in mysterious—”

“You don't get to have ‘mysterious ways’ when you've revealed yourself to a lot of manky hunters!”

“It's not as simple as—”

“Isn’t it?”

Inas just gave her a look. _That_ look. The one that made her feel like a child again who didn’t know a damned thing about the world.

As if she didn't have enough of that feeling lately. “Gonna help clean up,” she growled, and she stormed off.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are super long, just fyi. I’ll either accept your thanks or field your wrath when you finish.

The thing that Dean had forgotten while he was busy griping about the lack of creativity in the naming schema of Northeastern Illinois— was that stopping for a rest meant getting a motel. And getting a motel, meant sleeping.

And Cas, didn’t sleep.

Cas was just going to sit there, like he always did. Maybe reading a book, or researching something on Sam’s laptop, but still, just sitting there. No more than ten feet away.

Which was why, after they got checked into the Amber Run Motel, Dean suggested that they not, in fact, go to sleep right away, but instead go check out the nearby bar.

Sam just sort of shrugged. Cas had no objection. 

So they dropped off their bags, walked across the street. and got themselves a table. After they'd ordered their drinks, however, no one started conversation.

It was Dean who broke first. “So what did that Inas… person… tell you?” he asked.

Sam shrugged. “Said I need to be patient,” he answered.

Dean waited but no further explanation came. “...And?”

Sam gave the smallest cringe. “And they’re at _least…_ four hundred years old?" he answered. "Watched Shakespeare’s original plays."

“Dude.”

"Yeah." He took a sip from his beer. "I should be sitting these selkies down with a tape recorder, just have them talk for days."

Dean snorted over his bottle. “Nerd.”

“What special insight do the selkies have?” Cas asked with a frown.

“They’ve just been around for a long—” Sam started. “Oh. Cas, I didn’t mean—”

“You’ve never asked me to ‘just talk for days’.”

“Well I sure will _now,”_ Sam said. “Sorry, Cas, I didn’t know you cared.”

“It’s important to know the mistakes of your ancestors.”

Sam offered him a strained smile. “Of course it is. Here, I’ll buy your next beer as an apology, alright?”

He got up and headed for the bar.

Suddenly alone at the table with Cas, Dean found he had nothing to distract him from what he’d been avoiding since they’d left the bunker:

_He’s even adorable when he’s upset, huh?_

Dean sighed through his nose, allowing his eyes to fall shut.

He considered downing his beer and switching to the harder stuff. Maybe he could drink enough to pass out and just sleep at this bar tonight.

Cas absentmindedly ran a hand up and down his bottle in a way that wasn’t helping at all.

“Thought you thought our history was boring,” Dean threw out, the silence proving far worse than conversation could be.

“It is.”

“But… you’re a history buff now?”

“I’m older than your history records,” Cas said to the table.

“...Right.” Nope, his bad. Conversation was worse. “But you… care? About it?”

“Yes,” Cas slumped over the table a bit more, “I care about it.”

Well this was going fantastically. Where the heck was Sam? How long does it take to buy a freakin’ beer?

“So,” Dean tried again, “those selkies, huh? They sure do like you.”

“I played an integral part in their liberation, it’s only expected that they would be grateful.”

“Or, you know, they might just like you ‘cause you’re awesome.”

Shit

Cas sat up straighter, turning to Dean with one of his little smiles.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—

Dean panicked and slammed his gaze down to the tabletop.

_Hey-hey-hey! Get back up there!_

No. No fuckin’ way

_Seriously dude! Just look at the way he smiles at you! I'm tellin’ ya— _

No. That’s crazy. This is crazy! Cas doesn’t—

_Come on, man, of course he does. Oo, let’s look at his hair, dude, it’s so cool, isn’t it? Oh! Let's ruffle it! I bet it's soooft. Ooo, or is it spikey?_

Oh my god

_He won’t mind, he said he loves you!_

Shut up! That wasn’t like that. He said that to all of us, he loves _all of us._ That wasn’t like that at all and I honestly don’t know where you’re getting that from. Look, this is crazy! This is _beyond_ insane. I don’t… and Cas doesn’t… Cas probably _can’t—_

_Dude. Come on_

No! Look, this is just _—_  a normal _thing,_ right? I mean, who _hasn't_ thought about their best friend like that, right? 

_Riiight_

Fuck off. Maybe— maybe this is just— crossed wires or something! 

_Crossed wires?_

I mean, this whole— bi thing. This only just happened! 

_No it didn't, you only just realized it_

But—

_Look, you can't bullshit a bullshitter, man. Absolutely nothing goin' on up here is new_

But—

 _Dude. You have been staring at those chapped lips since you met him, and don't think for a minute that I _ _won't_ _pull up the memories because I will_

Fine! Fine. Look, maybe… maybe Cas is… Okay, Cas _is_ pretty awesome

_Uh-huh…_

And maybe… Maybe he lucked out on a pretty nice vessel

_That’s just him, you know. That’s all him_

Right. And maybe I… missed him a little while he was d— gone

_Please. Dear god_

Shut up. So maybe… _maybe_ I have a bit of a… maybe a… a _thing_ for Cas. Maybe a soft spot

... _And?_

And what?

Dean glared at himself in his mind. And boy was that trippy as fuck.

And what!?

_And Cas… _

Doesn’t feel the same way. Period. Cas is an angel

_I thought that didn’t matter?_

Oh fuck you

_Sure. Oh, look! Look how fucking blue his eyes are!_

No, cut it out, I have to stop—

 

“Dean?”

 

... _Oh_

Fuck... has hearing that always felt so good?

_Yeah, uh... I think it has, man..._

“Dean?” Cas asked again.

He shook himself back to the present. “Uh, yeah?”

“You seem… particularly troubled.”

Dean’s eyes widened before he could school his face to calm. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Ever since I—” He stopped himself. “Ever since I came back to the bunker you’ve been uncomfortable.”

“What? No, I’m just— excited! About this next ingredient for the spell!”

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. “Is this one of those times that I should be able to tell if you mean it?”

Dean huffed despite himself, remembering their conversation a few weeks ago over the slice of Apology Pie. “Kinda. I mean, that was more…" He huffed again. "Yeah, I guess it is, Cas."

“So would you tell me what’s actually bothering you?”

Dean looked over his shoulder. Seriously, where the hell was Sam?

“Dean?”

He bit his lip. “Look, um...” he trailed off.

Cas shifted minutely closer in his chair. “Whatever it is... I won’t be upset.”

Dean finally looked up to meet his gaze. “Whatever it is?”

Cas nodded.

“You promise?”

He nodded again, “I promise.”

Dean swallowed.

 _Alright, Winchester, come on. He promised. You just gotta say it: 'Hey, Cas, I just realized after forty fuckin’ years that I’ve been bi this whole time and I’m not sure if you’re into that but you’re pretty cool, wanna do something about it?_  '

Holy SHIT no, don’t say that! Anything but that! Holy fuck, just don’t say anything—

_Well you have to say something now! Say something! Say anything!_

“I— um—”

“Geez! Sorry guys!" Sam fell into his seat and clunked three beers on the table. "The line was just _crazy_ up there!” 

“Hey! Yeah!” Dean leapt from his chair. ”Hey, you know what? I actually— want something else! So I'm just gonna... Over there!”

Dean ran to the bar.

Cas blinked after him.

He slowly turned toward Sam.

Sam’s eyes skipped to him over his sip of beer. He lowered his bottle, “What?”

If looks could kill, Sam would be a pile of ash.

 _“Shit,_ what did I—?” He looked up at Dean, now hunched over the bar. "Oh shit, were you guys actually talking?"

The anger drained from his eyes. “Not yet,” Cas sighed.

“Shit, I'm sorry, Cas! ...Shit. Here, I'll go bring him back over—”

“Don't bother. It won't do any good.”

Cas was back to staring at the table.

Sam lowered himself back into his chair. “Alright... if you say so. Shit, I owe you one, okay?”

Cas didn't answer.

Sam fidgeted with his bottle. He looked between Cas and his brother.

Curiosity got the better of him, “Can I ask… what you were gonna talk about?”

Cas sighed again. He looked up at Dean’s back. “Dean was—”

He frowned.

“Sam, there's almost no one at the bar.”

“What?”

“You said there was a ‘crazy line,’ there's almost no one up there.” Cas scanned the entirety of the bar room. “There's almost no one here.”

“They… Must have all left—”

“Please, don't lie, Sam. I've had enough evasion for today.”

Sam pursed his lips and gripped his bottle tightly.

Cas looked him over, pausing on the necklace before meeting his eyes again. “Please tell me what happened.”

Sam looked away from him, squirming in his seat. “Look, Cas— this isn't really something I want to talk about.”

Cas just kept watching him. Then he took up one of the beers Sam had brought, even though he hadn't finished the first. "I’d like to use my favor," he said.

“What?”

“You said you owe me one. I assume you meant a favor and so I'm going to use it now. For this.”

Sam drooped with a sigh.

“Please, Sam?”

“For this?”

Cas sipped his beer. “It seems important.”

Sam took a breath and let his eyes shut. “Fine, Cas, I… I had a…”

Cas waited patiently.

Sam took a bolstering swig from his beer and thunked it back to the table. “Look, there was a— Some barback dropped a case and it shattered.”

Cas squinted, and tipped his head to the side. “And you…”

“And I panicked!” Sam burst, throwing out his palms. "I just froze and I—" He ran his hands back through his hair. "...I don't know, I just couldn't handle it."

Cas only nodded. “I see,” he said.

Sam paused. “You do?”

“This reactionary response... Perhaps you felt stranded, helpless. It washed over you, enveloped you, suffocated you…”

Sam gaped at him, “Cas, when—?”

“In this manner specifically? There was a period, a few years ago, when I couldn’t even leave the bunker without experiencing this. The aftermath of one of Rowena’s spells, I believe.” Cas sipped his beer. “Actually, the incident with the grindylows is a more recent and relevant example.”

“What happened with the grindylows?”

“Well, I... I lapsed when they pulled me under.” 

“Oh.” No wonder Dean had leapt in after him, then. "I'm sorry, Cas, I didn't know."

"Of course not, neither of you did."

"I assumed you had it handled—"

"I did," Cas stated. “My point was, you aren’t alone in experiencing this, Sam, this still affects me, too, and I’ve been a warrior for eons.”

Sam furrowed his brow. “Right. Of course.”

“I don’t blame you for forgetting. Frequently. Human minds weren’t designed to wrap around such large concepts.” Cas leaned back in his seat, his bottle on his lap, “Actually, perhaps you should be talking to Dean about this.”

“No.”

Cas turned to him, head tilted again, “Why not?” he asked. Then winced. “My apologies.”

Sam waved it off as he began. “I... I can’t talk to Dean because…”

He stalled in his required answer. For once, the necklace wasn’t yanking at his tongue like an Asshole on a dog’s leash. Instead, it felt more like... like it wanted to guide him. Gently, almost politely. It was such a shift that Sam’s curiosity won out again, and he allowed the necklace to lead.

“I can't talk to Dean about this... because he... because he's finally started to trust me again. It’s been years since he really trusted me, Cas, I mean, god, since before the _Apocalypse._ And I… I just can’t jeopardize that.”

Cas nodded slowly. He sipped his beer.

He shifted toward Sam, leaning forward on his elbows and clasping his bottle between his hands, and spoke to him gently and deliberately.

“I understand, Sam. Please know that I do. The trust earned back after a grave mistake is more precious than… than anything. Precious and fragile. And I won’t ask you to put that at risk, but Sam,” he reached out and placed a hand on Sam’s arm, “I have watched my brothers and sisters be consumed by this. The Rit Zien absolved _all_ kinds of pain. There have been times… times that even I wished for their release.” Cas squeezed his arm. “Please don’t keep this… shoved under a rug. We’ve been through so much, Sam, you can’t be expected to shoulder it alone.”

Sam gave his best friend a sad smile, “Sounds like I’m not the only one who should talk to Dean, huh?”

“I would, Sam, but… I think you’re right. I know he would want to help… but he would only worry.”

“He would pity.”

"Yes," Cas nodded, “Dean has also suffered, but he’s moved past his pain.”

Sam side-eyed Cas, “Or it’s been fixed.”

Cas squinted at him, “What’s been—?” He caught himself. “Sorry. Please explain.”

Sam leaned back in his chair and tipped his beer at Cas, “When you came back, man. He was so… so damn _happy_. He missed you.” Sam took a sip and added, “I mean, me too, of course. We both missed you.”

“I’m sure you were having a difficult time working cases without—”

“No, Cas, he _missed_ you. And I missed you, too,” he added hurriedly. “I did.”

A small, almost sad smile played at Cas's lips. “Thank you for saying that, Sam.”

“No problem, Cas.” Sam finished his beer.

He leaned back and looked around the bar. Huh, the place really _was_ pretty empty.

Then he caught sight of his brother, suddenly crossing the room and heading straight for the foosball table shoved in a corner. Sam set his empty bottle on the table and mumbled, “Oh what now…”

Dean had that cocky smile plastered on his face, that gleam in his eye, he looked set to turn the charm right up to twelve—

And he was headed for some guy.

Fuck. “Hey, Cas? Maybe we should turn in for the night.” 

Cas met him with one of those squinted looks. “We haven’t been here that long.”

“I know, but—”

“What did you—” Cas began to turn around.

“Nothing!” Sam grabbed his arm, “Didn’t see anything. We should go.”

Cas narrowed his eyes further. He glanced down at the necklace and back to Sam. “Why don’t you want me to turn around?”

Sam looked him right in the eye. “You don’t want to know.”

Cas straightened up.

He reached for his bottle, and finished his beer. “Let’s go.”

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

Bris carried an armload of bottles to the edge of the beach, adding them to the pile currently overflowing a woefully undersized trash bin. As the last one settled with a hard clink, Inas approached with their own haul of empty bottles. They didn’t say anything as they added them to the pile. Didn't try to start a conversation. Didn't even make eye contact.

And maybe it was the day she'd had, maybe it was the lingering drink in veins, but for some reason, that was worse than trying to get her to talk.

“Inas.”

They stopped and turned back to her.

But just as Bris opened her mouth to speak up, a pained shout carried over the beach.

Bris spun to see her cousin Sebhin clutching her stomach, leaning on her aunt for support.

 _“Fuck,”_  Sebhin groaned, “tha’s gotta be somethin’!”

The family rushed to her: “More’n a kick, eh?” “Is it time?” “Oh shit, now?”

Ballo and Inas pushed to the front. “Describe it, love,” Inas said, “sharp or dull?”

“Like someone kicked me in the cunt and shivved me in the stomach,” Sebhin cracked, trying for a smile.

Inas smiled back, “Alright then, love, we need to get you to somewheres to lie down.”

“We can’t stay, we been here too long,” Ballo said.

“Do you think you could move a distance, Sebhin?” her aunt asked.

“Aye, I think I could manage.”

“Alright, Ballo,” Inas said, “all hands on deck, we need a safe place to move her.”

“Done and done,” Ballo kissed their cheek. He turned to the family, “Alright, you heard ‘em!” he boomed, “Scouts on ahead! Guard, circle up! We’re movin’ south! Them rangers and whatnot can deal wit’ the leftovers!”

The beach erupted into action. Bottles were dropped and logs were left errantly strewn across the beach. Those with the assigned task of scouting ahead leapt into the river, coats flashing in midair. The poor _dobthar-chú_ were whipped into a frenzy, slipping between everyone, trying to find a source for this commotion.

Sebhin was guided to the shore and helped with her coat. The remaining selkies slipped into the water as a group, some supporting Sebhin so she could swim easier, while those assigned as guard, including Bris and Direl, swam around them, keeping an eye out for threats.

It was slow moving, but they were making good time nonetheless when the scouts came back. They signaled to Ballo that there were islands and a creek up ahead. He chose to head for the creek.

The banks of the river were steeper here, the creek cutting through the sharp hillside to reach the river. It wasn’t a particularly large waterway, but they were able to swim up a short distance before it became too shallow. The group hauled out there and the manic action continued.

“Pick up somethin’ extra strong for the clean-up,” Ballo said to the niece in charge of the liquor run. They nodded and left with their group.

Typically, Bris was just assigned to the watch while the new camp was set up, so as per usual, she went to take up a position—

“Where’s Valan?” a cousin shouted.

“Maybe he’s off at the bar?” Inas suggested as they helped Sebhin get comfortable against a tree.

“No, he was just here! An’ we need him righ’ now—”

“We’ll find him later.” Inas looked up and saw Bris. “Bris, step in, girl, get us some water and some rags.”

“But I—”

_“Now.”_

No arguing with that.

Bris took a near-empty fifth off one cousin and accepted an old shirt from another. She rushed to rinse and fill the bottle in the creek, and ran back to Inas.

Inas looked up at the offered bottle, unfortunately swirling with debris and muck. They muttered something unpleasant about _American water,_ and pointed at the ground next to Sebhin. “Alright, love, tear that shirt into a few pieces for me, yeah? You keep her cooled off. ”

Bris’s stomach churned. “But—”

They snapped up with a reproachful glare.

She dropped to her knees next to her cousin. “Alright, alright, yeah.”

The hours slid by slowly as Sebhin’s contractions became more and more frequent. Those who returned from the nearest town with supplies assured them that their new site was plenty remote, so they wouldn't have to worry about looky-loo's hanging about, but Bris could see that even so, Sebhin was still trying to keep herself quiet— biting her lip, her fist, squeezing her aunt’s hand— and Bris knew it was taking all her cousin's strength to do so, and she marveled at her strength.

She wanted to tell her cousin that. Knew full well she'd get a sarcastic smile and a sharp laugh for the comment, but her jaw was tight, and her lips were sealed, all in an effort to control her rising nausea.

 _You can do this,_  Bris was telling herself on repeat. _You can do this. You have to do this. If she can do this, you can do this._

*Fuck—* Sebhin breathed, falling back against the tree.

Bris dabbed Sebhin’s sweat with her damp rag, trying to convey through touch what she couldn’t say.

Sebhin didn’t deserve this.

Didn’t deserve this pain.

None of them did.

The next contraction must have been harsh, because Sebhin’s free hand shot out and snatched up Bris’s. Her heart skipped a beat, her chest seized, and her stomach flooded with guilt.

_Do this for her. Push through for her._

Bris gritted her teeth and took the pain that her cousin gave her. The bones in her hand ground against each other, but she just let it in, let it flow right into her.

It felt like hours before Inas finally smiled wide. “We’ve got fur!” they shouted.

Sebhin grinned over her pain, “Thank fuck!” she strained, almost a whine, “Get the little shit out, eh?” 

“Another good push, love, we’re almost there—”

Sebhin pushed, a shout held back by gritted teeth. Something popped in Bris's hand.

“One more, girl! One more!”

Sebhin screamed. Bris squeezed her eyes shut.

 _“There_ it is! Aye, there we go!” Inas joyously declared. Fingers snapped. “Rags, Bris, rags.”

Bris opened her eyes. Held in Inas’s arms was a pup, a little lump of white matted with mess. Then Inas carefully removed their coat, and revealed a round, pudgy, little pink face. They were messy, and bloody, and howlin’ up a storm, but they were also

“Beautiful,” Sebhin breathed.

“Bris!”

She jumped. Bris mumbled an apology and handed Inas some of the rags next to her, her eyes never leaving the baby.

Inas cleaned them up with one rag, wrapped them in another, and then carefully shifted the baby into Sebhin's waiting arms.

Sebhin smiled so wide, holding them close, gently stroking their cheek. “Wouldja just look at you... My little miracle…”

Congratulations from the family poured in around them, burying the little group in sound, but Bris paid it no heed. She didn’t hear a word. All she could see was her cousin, and her new cousin, a point of light in the dark.

“Did you want to hold ‘em, Bris?” Sebhin said, startling her. “Ye certainly earned it, I musta broken some bones there!”

“I… well, sure, of course…”

Bris reached forward so Sebhin didn’t have to and carefully lifted the baby into her own arms.

“Ye got a name picked out or are ye gonna make us wait?” Inas joked as they cleaned up the used rags.

“I didn’t but…” Sebhin smiled again. “Athrú. Their name’s Athrú.”

Bris and her surrounding family turned to Sebhin.

"Athrú?" asked an uncle.

"What?" snapped Sebhin. "Ye mean to tell me only Bris gets a name what means somethin'?"

The family collectively winced.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I only meant—"

"No," Bris interrupted, looking back down to the squirming ball of life in her arms.

Athrú.

“It’s perfect,” she said.

Sebhin relaxed again, her smile easily returning to her face. “Aye, they are, aren’t they?” she cooed, and reached her arms out. With some reluctance, Bris returned the baby, who snuggled closer into their rags and their mother's warmth.

Then all at once, Bris’s discomfort rushed back in on her. She abruptly stood, and took the bundle of used rags from Inas. “I’ll just... just gonna go toss these for ye.”

She pushed through the crowd and rushed off to where the new fire had been started, this one much smaller than their daytime bonfire. She tossed her excuse into the flames, ignored the protests of the uncle who was trying to stoke it, and rushed off into the surrounding trees to find a place to curl in on herself for the next week.

She only made it a few hours, though, before she was found. Inas came to sit next to her, leaning against the tree with their legs spread out over the fallen leaves.

“So. Quite the interruption, eh?” 

“Sebhin isn’t an interruption.”

They held up their palms, “Aye, sorry, just tryin’ to lead this in.” They took a breath and settled further into the tree. “Why don’t you start, lass?”

Bris allowed her eyes to close, and lowered her forehead to her arms crossed above her knees.

“Why do it hurt so much?” she finally asked.

She heard Inas sigh. “Love is a tough thing, darlin’.”

Bris tensed. “I’m… I ain't talkin’ about Sam.”

A beat passed. She heard Inas shift. “Then what are we talkin’ about, love?”

Bris squeezed her eyes until colors swam behind them. She didn’t lift her head when she said, “Nothin’ even happened to me like did Sebhin.” She hugged her knees tighter. “An’ Mol an’ Kira an’... They had to… They had to…”  

“Aye, I gotcha, darlin’.”

Bris nodded. “Nothin’ even happened to me, but I still… I’m still…”

Inas leaned over into Bris, placing an arm around her back, “Sufferin’s not a contest, lass. We're all sufferin’ here. It just shows differently.”

Bris breathed deep, letting it out in long sigh. That wasn't what she was talking about. 

“Why not me? Why them?”

Inas's arm tightened around her. 

“Some of you… the younger ones… We wanted to protect you—”

Bris jerked upright, sloughing Inas's arm. “Why?”

“Because we love you—”

“But, what, you didn't love them!?”

 _“Bris!”_ Inas stood suddenly. Her side went cold with their absence.

They turned to look down at her, their eyes wicked sharp, “That place… It were an _impossible_ thing. We did the best we could.”

Their tone said this discussion was over.

“Aye.” Bris curled herself tighter. “M’sorry, Inas.”

Inas nodded sharply. Then they left, returning to the camp.

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

Sam had gone to sleep soon after they returned to their motel room, leaving Cas with what little information they had about the Rhode Island chapter house to read overnight. As he did, though, Cas soon came to realize that procedural minutes, while excellent for facilitating guided discussion, were about the most _boring_ thing he had ever had the displeasure to encounter in his eons of existence. He was about to abandon them for the far more exciting task of counting the purple oak leaves on the wallpaper, when something softly thudded against the door. It was too quiet to wake Sam, but plenty loud enough for Cas to pick up.

Cas crossed the room and looked out the peephole. He saw nothing, but he could hear breathing on the other side.

He dropped his angel blade from his sleeve and opened the door a crack. Something heavy moved with the door.

As he carefully opened it wider, the ‘something’ revealed itself to be distinctly human-shaped.

 _Familiarly_ human-shaped, in fact.

Cas rolled his eyes and allowed the door to open.

Dean flopped back onto the floor, blinking up at him.

“Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Whatcha doin’ out here, Cas?”

“I believe that’s what I should be asking you.”

Dean’s eyebrows knitted together as he bit his upper lip in intense concentration. His eyes darted around the doorway and he said, “Oh.”

Cas rolled his eyes again. He stooped down to pull Dean back up to a sitting position and crouched next to him. “I suppose Sam didn’t want me to see how drunk you had gotten.”

“What?”

Cas didn't repeat himself. He moved to put an arm under Dean in order to lift him.

Dean jerked away and stared at him, wide-eyed, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed.”

His eyes widened further, then relaxed just as quickly. “Oh, for sleeping.”

“Of course, what else?”

“Nothing!”

They stared at each other a moment.

Dean bit the side of his lip. “I don’t… really wanna come inside.”

“You’d rather stay out here?”

Dean nodded.

Cas decided to concede this ground.

He closed the door behind them and sat next to Dean, leaning against the door with him.

“Why are you out here?” Cas asked. “Didn’t you have your key?”

Dean nodded and patted his jacket pocket heavily. “Got the key. Don’t wanna go inside,” he repeated.

“Why don’t you want to go inside?”

Dean huffed. “Because Cas is in there.”

Cas’s eyebrow twitched up but he schooled his face back to neutrality. “Why don’t you want to see Cas?”

“Well I can’t tell _you!"_  Dean smiled at him. “That’d be dumb.”

“I suppose it would,” he agreed, trying to quell the warmth that smile always seemed to trigger. He looked more earnestly to Dean, “Why won’t you talk to me, Dean?”

“You’re askin’ a lotta questions,” Dean whined, letting his head fall back to the door.

Cas saw his opportunity and took it. “Well… you could always ask some.”

Dean pursed his lips. “Yeah I guess I could.”

Cas waited while he presumably thought of one.

“Alright. I got one. But…”

“But what?”

“It’s weird.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t hafta answer if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

Dean took a deep breath and sighed, rolling his head to face Cas. “Are you… Okay, so you’re an angel.”

“I sincerely hope that’s not your question.”

“No. _H_ _eh._ No... M'question is… like… So Jimmy was a dude. But are you... like... a dude?”

“I’m fairly indifferent to such things. I don’t really think about them.”

“Oh.” Dean rolled his head back upright. “That was a fast answer.” He let his eyes close, and he sighed again. “I knew it.”

“I'd imagine you would, after ten years.”

Dean smiled, a sharp contrast from only a moment before.  _“Been this way, ten years to the day…”_   he softly sang, then lolled his head to face Cas with another smile. “You know that one’s—”

“One of your favorites.”

Dean frowned. “How’d’you know?” he slurred.

Cas shrugged. “You sing them frequently when you’re drunk.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’ve also told me many times.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Sorry. Bet that gets annoying.”

“Never,” Cas said casually.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, but Cas didn’t know why.

It seemed Dean was done talking again, so Cas returned to his first objective. “You know that you shouldn't stay out here,” he said.

“Why not? I’ll be fine.”

“Well for one thing it’s getting cold.”

Dean defiantly pulled his arms around himself. “And for‘nother?”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “For another I’d worry about you.”

The uncomfortable silence returned.

Dean became curiously flushed as he was wont to do when Cas said almost anything positive toward him. At this point Cas just assumed it was a typical human reaction to kindness.

But then he said:

“You gotta quit sayin’ shit like that, Cas.”

The warmth he'd been fighting flipped to a chill. Cas lifted his chin and tilted his head, “Why?”

“‘Cause…”

He trailed off, his nose wrinkling with a grimace.

"Because why, Dean?"

"Just because, Cas, okay?" he snapped, pulling his arms tighter around himself.

He didn't want to, but Cas conceded this ground as well.

“Please come inside, Dean?” he tried again.

Dean shook his head, staring at the ground, “I can’t.”

“Perhaps... Would you do it as a favor to me? I’d owe you one.”

Dean scrunched his brow. His eyes narrowed as they darted around the concrete in front of him.

“I… maybe… okay.”

The corner of Cas’s mouth rose again and stayed. He put a hand under Dean’s arm and stood with him.

“Whoa, easy there,” Dean groaned, putting a hand to his head. “Go slow for me, ‘kay?”

“Of course,” Cas said as he helped Dean through the door, “I’m just glad you’re coming in.”

They made it over to the bed and Dean flopped down on it, shuffling sloppily to a pillow and hugging it tightly to his chest. Moving methodically, Cas began to take his shoes off for him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean grumbled, yanking his foot back, “I said go slow.”

Cas squinted. “We did.”

Dean just grumbled something into his pillow, curling around it tighter.

Knowing far too well that Dean was a stubborn man, whether sober or drunk, Cas left it as yet another lost cause of the night, and instead returned to his seat at the table with the files. Perhaps a third read-through would finally yield some viable information.

“You're wrong y’know,” Dean murmured, his voice rough with drink and fatigue.

Cas looked up from his files. Dean hadn’t moved.

“About what?” he asked.

“Haven't moved past it.”

Cas replayed his conversation with Dean, but couldn’t find the context to make sense of that.

“Moved past what?”

Dean was quiet for a moment.

“Nevermind, Cas,” he mumbled. “Go to sleep.”

“I don’t sleep.”

Dean huffed through his nose and hugged the pillow tighter. “I know.”

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

_A few hours ago:_

 

”Hey, you know what? I actually— want something else! So I'm just gonna... Over there!” Dean fumbled, and ran to the bar.

He planted his ass in a stool and waved the bartender over.

_Smooth_

Shut up

Liquor in hand, Dean hunched over his glass.

That wouldn’t have gone well anyway

_Yeah you keep tellin' yourself that_

Dean took a very large sip of his drink. 

God... fuck whatever this was. Just... _fuck._

Why'd it have to be _Cas?_   Why not someone else? Why not _anyone_ else?

_Oh I can tell you why, I can tell you all day. You want an essay? A Powerpoint?_

Dean groaned.

_I'll give you the entire play-by-play if you want it, man, starting with that sex-hair and ending with whatever he's hiding under his—_

Dean threw back in his drink in an attempt to drown that fucking voice. Then he ordered another.

This was stupid. This was  _completely..._   _totally_ stupid. 

He ordered another.

Just— Cas? Really? 

He ordered another. The bartender gave him a concerned eyebrow, but said nothing.

This was stupid.

He was stupid.

_Aw, come on..._

Don't you 'aw, come on' me. It is. I am. I was about to just _tell_ him. So stupid

_It coulda worked_

No it wouldn't. It wouldn't. The whole thing would be fuckin’ weird anyway

_Then, uh... then how about someone else?_

Dean paused mid-sip. That _would_ fix a lot.

He turned out to look over the bar and took in the crowd, ignoring Sam and Cas who were now in deep conversation back at the table.

Huh, there weren't all that many people in this bar.

There were a few women at another table, probably a group, not a good target. Thought there was a solid maybe by herself in the corner... No… Nah…

Oh

A man at the back of the bar caught his eye. Tall, dark haired, just enough scruff, an easy smile on his face and a confident set in his shoulders—

Wow. Okay. Dean totally had a type.

As if sensing his gaze, the man turned from the conversation he was in, and landed his eyes right on Dean.

_Did your heart just skip a beat? Dude_

In defiance of those nerves, Dean didn’t look away.

He was rewarded by the man giving him a quick once over.

Are... Are you fucking kidding me? Second bar I’m in being bi I get a gay guy? A _hot_ gay guy?

_Stop questioning it and do something, idiot!_

Dean tried for a charming smile that probably came out a little faltered.

The man’s eyes became hooded as he ever-so-slightly pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit—

He spun back to the bar.

_God DAMN it, man!_

Shut up!

Dean downed his drink and waved the glass at the bartender. Okay, okay, just gotta get the liquid courage going.

The song playing out over the bar switched to something new, and a woman’s rough voice leapt out at him:

_“Whoa-oa-oa-oa after midnight!”_

Dean scoffed. Stupid song. Still a few hours 'til midnight, at least.

Continuing to use fingers of whiskey as shots, and aided by the fact he’d never actually gotten any dinner, Dean proceeded to give himself as much courage as he thought his jacked credit card could afford. But when he finally turned back around on his stool, he suddenly realized he might have taken too long. That guy could already be gone by now, got tired of waiting, and how many gay guys were even out here in the fuckin’ boonies anyw—

Oh, good, he was still there.

Dean leaned back against the bar and waited for they guy to look his way. It wasn’t long before he did, and this time Dean’s smile was definitely charming. He even offered a little wave with lazy fingers.

_Nice touch_

Thank you!

The man smirked, and tipped his head toward the foosball table in the corner.

Dean tossed his eyebrows in happy surprise. So picking up dudes was just as easy as picking up chicks. Sweet.

He was just about to get up when he caught his name in Sam and Cas’s conversation.

“...should talk to Dean, huh?”

“I would, Sam, but… I think you’re right. I know he would want to help… but he would only worry.”

“He would pity.”

“Dean has also suffered, but he’s moved past his pain.”

Dean turned a glare on them, jaw clenched, a slow resentment rising like tidewater. So Sam hadn’t wanted to talk to him because… what? Those two could chat about their serious shit like it was nothing but… but Dean couldn’t handle it? Dean was just fine? Moved past his shit?

With the logical connections only the drunk can make, Dean looked back up at the man, who was still waiting for a solid answer. Dean met his eyes, pulled out his best smile, and stood from his stool to make his way back to the corner. He’d fucking show them. And he'd have a great fucking time, too.

The man said something to his friends, they smiled and waved him off, and he went to stand at the table to wait for him.

Dean tipped his chin as he approached. “Hey. Dean.”

“Steve.”

Bitch.

Steve grinned at Dean’s expression. “You already know a Steve?”

“Yeah— Um— Knew…”

Steve's grin only grew, and he leaned in a little, “Maybe I could help you forget that bad memory.”

_Hot damn, straight to the punch!_

“Uh... Yeah,” Dean breathed, “sure.”

Steve chuckled. “Damn, I'm such a sucker for the cute ones. C’mon.”

Steve moved past him, grabbing his coat from his chair, and led the way out of the bar. Dean followed in a bewildered daze, just barely registering that Sam and Cas weren’t at their table anymore.

Steve led him across the parking lot, evidently heading for the motel across the street. They got halfway there before Dean’s mind clicked this information into place.

“Wait!” He grabbed Steve’s wrist.

Steve turned back to him. “What’s wrong, sugar?”

The endearment tossed a few butterflies in Dean’s stomach. “Uh— You’re not goin’ to the motel, right? I got, uh… friends stayin’ there.”

Steve smirked in understanding, and turned to fully face Dean. “Fine by me," he said, leaning in close again, "I bet you wanted this quick and dirty anyway, huh?"

Oh,  _there_ were the rest of the butterflies. “Fuck, um, sure…” 

Dean only had a moment to catch the flash of Steve's widening smile before he sharply pulled the arm Dean was still gripping tight, causing Dean to tumble into him. He slipped an arm around Dean's waist, and faster than Dean could follow, he ducked his head and sucked a hard kiss to the side of Dean’s neck.

The world shorted out as heat _flooded_   his entire body. When he came back, he found Steve watching him with an utterly unrepentant grin. He lifted a finger to Dean’s chin, closing his mouth for him. “Follow me, sugar.”

Unable to muster even a ‘sure’, Dean wordlessly followed Steve back to the bar, passing the front door and continuing around the side. This bar was a free-standing building, but its neighbors were just close enough to offer some semblance of privacy.

He shoved down the reflexive twist in his chest.

He was here because he wanted to be. He was here for a—

The world vanished again. They had turned the back corner of the building and before Dean even knew it his back had been slammed into the concrete wall.

There was an eternity of Steve’s hands just roaming his body, pressing and gripping while Dean forgot to breathe. It registered that those hands were a lot bigger than he was used to, and honestly that just ratcheted up the fire quickly growing in his groin.

Finally Dean got the gears going again and he returned the touch, running his hands up Steve’s sides under his jacket, feeling the heat of his body right through that t-shirt. Emboldened by it, he slipped his hands up Steve's shirt and dragged his nails all the way from his shoulders down to his hips and— 

 _Shit,_  how did the world keep flickering like that? Steve was sucking at Dean’s neck again, not hard enough to leave marks, but definitely hard enough for Dean.

“Full disclosure,” Dean forced out between gasps, ”haven’t done somethin’—  _uhn—_ like this— in a long—”

He was cut off by a hard bite at his shoulder and his own drawn-out groan. “Oh, don’t you worry, baby," Steve murmured, "I’m gonna take good care of you.” 

*Fuck—*

He shoved Dean’s face to the side with his own and ran his tongue around the shell of his ear. *Now you just tell me if I get too rough, alright?*

 _Shit,_  why was that so fucking hot? Holy fucking shit—

Steve’s hand slid down Dean’s stomach, straight down to his crotch, and it was a good thing the world had disappeared because now it was on _fire._

_“Fuck!"_

_*Shh-shh-shh,*_  Steve soothed in his ear, “you gotta be a little quieter for me, baby, okay?”

”Yeah— I—” Dean choked out. He became aware that his hands were fisted in Steve’s shirt. He used them to pull him closer, pressing them together hip to chest— and holy fuck  _that_  was new— trapping Steve’s hand between them.

“Alright, there you are, huh?” Steve purred. He pulled his hips back just far enough to work at Dean’s belt and jeans. Dean tried to do the same, but there wasn't enough room. “One minute, sugar,” Steve assured him, ”I’ve got you, I got you.”

Then without further warning Dean’s pants were around his hips and Steve’s hand was down his boxers and holy _shitfuck,_ yes, _fuck_ —

Steve undid his own pants with his other hand, then leaned in and asked against Dean’s ear, *You got a condom, sugar?*

Ice flashed through his body. “No, wait, I—”

“Hey, hey, me neither. Didn’t expect to find a pretty thing like you tonight. But that’s alright, baby, I think we can get away with somethin’…”

He took his hand back and grabbed the loop of Dean's jeans. Steve tugged on him sharply, lifting his ass from the wall, and rolled his hips maliciously into Dean, bringing him right back around, his hands flying back to slap against the wall as a sharp, strangled moan fell out of him.

He heard Steve's answering groan, felt him shift once again, but this time he latched onto Dean’s _neck_  and he  _pushed_ with his  _chest_ and dear _god_ Dean just  _knew_ he was gonna burst into flames right then and there—

Steve reached up and slid his hands down Dean’s arms. “Hey, now, bring those hands back, baby, where’d you go?”

Dean allowed him to pull his hands off the wall, and as soon as he placed them back on his hips it was like a light switch being flipped. Suddenly he remembered how his part was supposed to work, and his hands gripped his ass and he pulled him in harder and faster and rougher against him.

“Hey, hey, now” Steve murmured, slowing his hips. “Lemme do this for you.”

_For you._

*Damn it!* Dean whined.

“Fine, alright,” Steve teased, “want it so bad, huh?”

He picked back up and Dean _tried_ to get lost in it again but now _that_ was echoing in his mind—

_For you… I’ll go... For you..._

_“Damn it!”_

Dean gripped tighter, thrust harder. They moved together, frantic and fraught—

_I’ll go... For you... I could go with you... Dean..._

Pushing— Pulling— Rutting— Rushing—

_Dean?_

“Fuck, Dean!”

Steve latched a hand onto Dean’s shoulder as they reached a climax together. Breaths hitched and throats caught and they shuddered against each other through it. both of them left breathing heavily, raggedly, into the cold night.

As they panted through the aftershocks, the mists of their air mingled, the closest they had actually gotten to each other.

“Well, alright then,” Steve breathed through a smile.

Dean let his head knock back against the wall. In his drunken haze he didn't even register the pain of it.

“Damn, I bet you'd be amazing in bed,” Steve was saying as he re-did his pants. “You want my number, sugar? I'd show you another good night anytime.”

Dean huffed a sigh and shook his head a against the wall. “Nah… Just… I'm only passing through…”

 _“Mm,”_ he grunted in response. Noticing Dean wasn't doing a thing about his pants around his hips, Steve moved in one last time and did them back up for him. “Too bad. Your loss,” he said.

And with that Steve was gone, and Dean was left alone with his messes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with an optional audio element (Incidental Music, is the cinematic term). The link will be right there in the text. Lyrics are in the end-of-chapter notes for those who don't want to or can't listen.  
> I'd love your feedback if you enjoyed it or found it distracting, etc.

The next morning, well after sunrise, the selkie camp finally stirred, a murmured buzz running through the huddled crowd. Of course everyone was glad out of their gourds for Sebhin— that everything went so smoothly and the baby had all of their flippers and toes— but there was another buzz. A more nervous one. Valan still hadn’t returned and now Bris’s uncle Bren was missing from his shift on watch as well.

“Don’t know where they’d run off to,” an aunt was grumbling over the low fire. “Wouldn’t leg it to a pub without at least sayin’ somethin’.”

“Maybe it’s a joke?” a cousin tried weakly.

“Fuckin’ shite joke,” her aunt spat in return.

Bris warmed her hands on the fire and took a piece of whatever critter had been caught for breakfast. Her sleep out at her tree had been fitful again, full of taunts and leers; _You nasty thing,_ she had said. _You’ll learn to behave soon enough._

The echoing slam of a cage door jarred her back to the present. She stood quickly, intending to find a place to curl up and resist the urge to drown herself in whiskey— when Inas appeared at her side.

“Wanna apologize, lass.”

Bris looked down to them, “What for?”

“Left ye high and dry yesterday. Weren't good a' me. That just weren't where I thought that conversation were gonna go an'—”

She waved them off and started walking away from camp. Inas followed, keeping up with her pace. “I get it, Inas. I know. There ain't nothin’ to do about anythin’ now, ain't nothin' for you to apologize for.”

They turned to her, falling back a step, but they shook it off and quickly caught up again.

Bris came upon a nice, large tree and moved to sit down, but Inas put a gentle yet insistent hand under her arm.

“It’s still so cold this morning, love, won’t you help me warm my old bones with another walk?”

Bris rolled her eyes at the blatant excuse, but once again she allowed herself to be led, this time out into the surrounding woods. Unlike the other places they had stayed recently, these woods were clear and open, with almost no shrubbery to be seen. Short stumps littered the ground, as though someone had come through to cut it all out, and the two of them had to watch their step not to trip.

It was quiet as they walked up and down the hills of this rolling forest, loosely following the river back north. They only heard the occasional rustle of the fallen leaves, or a single bird flitting tree to tree. It was much like their walk through that town not a week ago, when they’d been together at that bar; it was so similar in fact, that Bris slipped again into thinking she might get away with a nice, easy walk with Inas. But really, she should have known better by now.

"This whole mess is hittin' you heavy, love."

"I'm fine," Bris responded without thinking.

Inas didn't turn to her, refusing to even grace that with an answer.

Bris sighed. "Look, I know you been worried, but I'm... You were right. This whole thing were impossible an’ I just gotta do the best I can.”

"That weren't— Lass, that weren't what I meant at all. That _place,_ were impossible, the _survival_ were impossible, not this, not the after. I know I didn't let you finish yesterday—"

Bris shook her head. "I said all I wanted to."

"Then how about the stuff you didn't want to."

She clenched her teeth. "It’s all just... hiccups. I should be fine. I'm gonna be fine. I just— gotta find the right way to get there."

Inas turned, now looking at her with a strange squint in their eye.

"You know, lass," they said, "sometimes you're so like your father I get chills."

Bris returned the look, but they'd already faced forward again and didn't go on.

Inas tipped their head to the bare canopy above, a knowing bounce reaching their tone when they spoke again. “You ever gonna tell me the real reason you’re keepin’ yourself from that fella of yours?”

“I told you he don’t need me—”

“Aye, you did. But is that really all that’s keepin’ you out here with our sorry arses?”

“I mean— Yeah!” Bris glared at them. “I don't get why you’re not gettin' this. What am I s'posed to do with a man what don’t need me?”

"Goodness, I dunno, _enjoy_ yerself?"

 _"Inas—”_ She curled her lip and dropped her gaze to the ground. “Inas, please. You gotta— You gotta stop askin' me this."

That seemed to give them pause. "Why, darlin'?"

"Because there's no _point_ to it."

"No point to it?"

"You're only churnin' things up an'— An' it don't matter how much we talks it out— how much we talks any a’ these things out— 'cause they don't make any sense. None of it makes any bit o' sense."

Inas stood just a bit straighter. "What don't make sense, love?"

"Any of it!" She shut her eyes for a moment. "Every time I thinks things are gonna go back to normal— every time I _try—_  I get the stuffin’ knockedright outta me. We finally get outta that farm, an’ the afancs comes after us. We take care a’ them, I go off to make the best o' this, an’ a man takes my coat what don’t want it. We beat them afancs  _again,_  we’re okay _again,_ an’ the demons come gets us an' ain't no flood gonna get us out this time. We get out, _again_ _,_ an’ now even though nothin’ happened to me an’ I've had how many babes a' my own, now I can't even look my own cousins in the eye 'cause the mere sight of 'em sends my stomach down the chutes! An' now we’re always runnin’ an’ I miss bein' home an’ God is a dick an' Heaven’s a sham—" She pulled her arms tight around herself. "An' to top it all off, as if that weren’t enough, I just had to go an’ screw myself over with— by—" She cut off as a lump swelled up in her throat.

"Now hold on there, love, hold on." Inas stopped them with a hand on her arm. "I may not be able to hear yer heart but I knows shame when I sees it."

Bris kept her eyes on the ground.

"Please, darlin', tell me what happened."

She hugged herself tighter, as if she'd keep the coming lashing at bay if only she could squeeze hard enough.

"I... I slept with a man yesterday."

"Alright."

"And he... an' his heart, he needed help. He did."

"Yes."

"But he didn't... It didn't feel right. None of ‘em have felt right. Ever since I— Ever since Sam... No one is right."

Their hand squeezed her arm. "Bris—"

"I know. I know I'm a right fuck-up. I ruined everythin’ with one stupid night an' now I can't find a—"

 _"Bris,"_  Inas said with a tug at her arms. "Bris, love, _a stór..."_

She raised her eyes to meet Inas's own.

They crinkled with a smile. "The fuck do you think I'm doin' with Ballo, lass?"

She drew back. "I— What?"

"What on earth do you think I'm doin' with Ballo? Neither of us has followed a wailin’ heart in over a century, so what do you think we're doin’ with our lives? Are we fuck-ups, too? Are we less because of it?”

“Wha— No, a’course not!”

"Then why is this any different?" they asked her. "Why is what you're feelin' any different than us? Is it because he ain't a selkie?"

"It's because he don't n—"

"Yes, I know. You said that. A lot." They almost chuckled, but it came out quiet and small. "I don't know where you got this notion that you can't love a man for the sake of it, 'cause it _certainly_ weren't from us, but, darlin', you're keepin' yourself from one a' the best things this life has to offer, someone what cares about you, someone what wants you for you."

"But... Inas— Our Purpose— There's people out there what needs me an' I gots to—"

"Aye, yes, but what about what _you_ needs?"

Bris opened her mouth, but all that came out was, “What?”

"You seem to think that God ain't even here, so I ain’t quite sure why you're so caught up about it, but if you're gonna insist on tryin'a figure out the Lord's plan then I gotta ask: Have ye considered that _this_ is the plan?"

She continued to gape.

"Darlin', you're hurtin' somethin' awful here, have been for months, an' when things was about get as worse as they was ever gonna be, what happened to you? You ran into those three little hunters, an' the one what didn't need you were the one that stole yer heart."

No...

 _"You_ needed help. An' it were sent. An' things got worse. An' he came back. Now I don't knows about you but that sure sounds like divine providence to me, doncha think?"

No.

This mess couldn't be that easy.

"You're keepin’ yourself from happiness, throwin’ up roadblock after roadblock, an’ as far as I can figure, you’re only doin’ so ‘cause ye think ye ain’t s’posed to have it.”

She stared at Inas, reaching to give voice to her other reasons, all of the other reasons that this couldn’t work, if only she could find them—

Inas took her arms and unwound them from around her chest. “You’ve always been headstrong, girl, but you gotta believe me in this: This ain't about purpose, this is about you and your happiness. An’ you're allowed to be happy. You _deserve_ to be happy.”

Bris searched their face, looking for the lie, looking for the gap, looking for the way to hang on to the doubt that’d held her in a death grip for the past _month_ of her life—

But there was nothing there.

There was nothing there.

“With everythin' what's happened— to you, to all of us— please, darlin', just give yourself this. Just let yourself have this.”

And she tried to hold it back, she tried to dam it up, but a noise escaped her throat,

and it all came crashing down.

Everything she’d been holding back escaped all at once, the anger, the fear, the doubt, the worry— tears breached the breakwater, sobs leapt the seawall, and she collapsed into Inas’s waiting embrace.

“There ye go, love, there it is,” they soothed as they held her close. “You deserve the _world,_ but just to start, give yourself just this one little thing. Do it for me if it helps, or for the family, or for your pa. Heck, do it for the damned Queen of England for all I cares!” Inas burst, and Bris smiled a dewy laugh into their shoulder. “Because all of us only wants to see you happy. Because you an’ I an’ _all_ of us are beings a’ love, I’ve always toldja that. So, please, darlin’, don’t miss this on account’a you're think you shouldn’t have it.”

They stayed that way a while, clutching each other tightly as Bris’s carefully constructed walls crumbled around her, like the sand castles they really were.

Her whirlwind finally wound down and she leaned back from Inas, smiling through her sniffles. “Thank you, Inas.”

“Of course, love,” Inas smiled back, “firm kicks to the arse are my job.”

She laughed again, and pulled them back in for another hug.

Someone groaned behind them. “How touching.”

Bris spun to face the voice, her blood ran cold, and she threw a protective arm in front of Inas.

“No!”

 

———

 

_An hour ago:_

 

Dean awoke in the shaky, groggy fog he was finding himself in way too much recently.

Coffee. He needed coffee. And grease. A tub of grease. And a shower. And—

“Good morning, Dean.”

And to forget the entirety of yesterday.

Dean pulled himself up slowly, trying not to jostle the slushie that was his brain right now. “Mornin’, Cas,” he grumbled.

Cas looked him up and down. “You didn’t sleep well.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” he snapped. Then immediately regretted it. "Sorry.”

“I believe Sam was expecting this,” Cas said, apparently ignoring Dean’s rudeness. “He’s already left to pick up ‘something disgustingly heart-clogging’,” he explained. With air quotes.

Dean ran a hand over his face. “Great. How much should I bet that some damned _vegetables_ make it onto whatever he brings back."

"That doesn't seem a smart wager, there'll almost certainly be some." 

Dean almost rolled his eyes, but he caught himself before he could anger his headache. Instead he slowly got to his feet— oh ugh, he hadn’t even taken his shoes off— and headed straight for the bathroom. “I’m just gonna…” he mumbled, and shut the door behind him.

Dean stripped off last night’s clothes, quickly, automatically, and heaped them in the corner. As he moved to the shower, he paused at the sink, looking into the mirror and craning his neck. Good, at least Steve had been a gentleman about it.

God,  _Steve?_ Really?

_Not our fault he’s got that name_

Shut up. You don’t get to talk for the rest of forever

Dean turned on the shower and stepped in before the water had a chance to warm. The shock helped wake him up.

Dean sighed through his nose, long and low.

So that happened.

If he'd had any doubts left, this should take care of 'em now. He huffed a dry laugh, maybe he should call Max to tell him the good news.

Unless, of course, it was just the booze doing all the talking and doing last night.

Dean sighed again and let his forehead hit the wall.

_Give it a month, it’ll feel like it was always this way._

Sure, Max, but things are crazy right _now._

Of course, though, that wasn't all that had happened last night. No, of course not. He'd had to go and be a drunken ass at the door, too. ‘Are you a dude’, what kind of fucking question was that?

Like he needed to know what Cas was. He knew that already. Cas was an angel. A goddamned Angel who didn’t even think like that so what the hell was the point to all this?

God, Dean had fucking known it. _Fairly indifferent to such things... Don’t really think about them..._

Well then, this was it. Resignation to squashing these weird feelings for the rest of his life. Hey, maybe they’d just go away if he ignored them long enough.

'Cause that worked so well for everything else.

He’d been in the shower long enough for the water to return to cold, which in a shit motel like this wasn’t really that long at all. He stepped out and grabbed his old boxers— oh wait, ew— grabbed a towel to wrap around himself and left the bathroom.

A lifetime in shared living spaces makes one a master of discretion, so Dean made it to his bag and selected his new clothes smoothly, efficiently, and without unnecessary eye contact. But when he stood up to turn around, intending to return right to the bathroom, he was confronted with a wrinkle.

Because Cas was staring.

Which in and of itself wasn’t a big deal, of course. After ten years you get used to somebody staring at you. But there was something... weird about this stare.

“Dude. What?”

Cas looked away. “Nothing," he said. "Sam will be here in a minute.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, “...’Kay,” and went back to the bathroom to get dressed.

When he returned, Sam was at the table, unpacking his haul.

“Alright, we got some _strong_ coffee with espresso shots; like, three different kinds of dead things on buns; and—”

Sam’s phone rang. He looked between his pocket and his helplessly greasy hands. Gesturing his hip toward Cas, he asked, “Could you get that?”

Without trepidation Cas took Sam’s phone from his pocket. “It’s Direl.”

“Shit.” Sam snatched up some napkins. “Answer it, put it on speaker for a minute.”

Cas swiped to answer and held the phone out.

“Hello?” Sam said.

_“Sam!”_

They all froze. That was _Bris,_  sounding desperately upset.

Sam dropped the napkins and grabbed the phone, almost losing it in his still-greasy hands. He put it to his ear without taking it off speaker.

“Bris! What’s wrong?”

_“Demons, Sam! The demons came back for us!”_

“What? Where are you? What happened?”

_“Some place, some building! I saw where they took us but—”_

“Just describe it, Bris, it's okay, it's gonna be okay, we’ll find you.”

Bris gave them as many details as she could and Dean found the building on his phone.

“We’ll be there soon, Bris, hang on, okay?”

_“Hurry, Sam! Wait— wait, no! Hey! No!”_

The call cut off.

Sam lowered the phone and stared at it, frozen for just a second.

Then like a shock from a cord he started grabbing everything at once— the food bag, his laptop, an empty cup, piling it all into his arms.

With the same harried frenzy, Dean and Cas grabbed whatever Sam hadn’t and they sprinted out the door.

 

———

 

The small warehouse was part of an industrial park, brown and crumbling and practically empty. It was almost a strip mall, with rows upon rows of available space, maybe a couple thousand square feet each.

The Impala’s tires skidded on the rough pavement as they came to a halt in front of the third door from the east, just like Bris had said. Before the car was even off Sam had launched himself from his seat and was running at the door.

“Sam!”

But he couldn’t hear Dean. He rushed the door and slammed his shoulder against it, but he bounced right off. He hit it again. Nothing.

“Cas!”

Cas moved in front of Sam and raised a hand at the door. His eyes lit with grace as a low hum emanated from it and a second later it shattered to splinters. Sam rushed past him into the room, gun raised and Knife drawn. This building wasn’t that big, they shouldn’t be hard to find in—

The room was empty.

Sam whirled around. “What?”

It was just an empty, windowless room.

“No…”

“Hey—” Dean came up behind him and took his arm. “Come on, we must have the wrong one—”

“We followed exactly what she said—”

“Yeah, and she was pretty freaked out, so come on.” Dean tugged a little, but Sam seemed dazed. “Hey.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey! Come on! She’s still out there, what’s with you!?”

But Sam didn’t hear him. He was sinking into something dark, something crushing.

“Hey!”

No response.

“Sam!” Dean waved his hand in front of his face again,  _“Sam!”_ he snapped his fingers.

Sam’s eyes flew wide, his pupils contracted—

_SNAP— his blood was fire— SNAP— his breath was glass— SNAP— his flesh was in shreds and— SNAP— those eyes— SNAP— those **eyes** SNAP  **red and burning**_

Dean caught Sam as he collapsed, dropping to the ground with him, “Sam!”

Behind them all, the door reappeared and slammed shut.

In the middle of the room, a woman appeared, clutching a book in her arm. She leered at the three of them, grinning wide.

“Hello, assholes.”

With a wave of her hand, symbols appeared on the walls and Cas doubled over.

 _“Cas!?”_  

_“Warding—”_

“Oh, I am _so_ glad that worked! Couldn’t put it up until you got here, of course.”

Dean flipped back to the woman. He got a better look at her and realized—

“The fucking witch from the farm!”

“Oh  _look_ at _that,_  you remember me! How flattering.” She raised an open hand and dropped it in a fist.

Dean’s abdomen lit with pain and he curled over Sam with a shout. Cas stumbled and fell to his knees near them, trying to reach a hand out to them.

 _"Je-_ sus _ fuck, _ that feels good!” the witch shouted, still grinning wide. “All- _right_ now, you just hang onto that for me, pretty boy. I just gotta wake up sleeping beauty here from his little coma...” The witch flicked her wrist and Sam began to stir. “Damn, that spell worked _way_ better than I ever hoped! Thought he’d need a shove, but, really it just took the tiniest nudge. Took a few weeks to really kick _in,_ but… ”

Through the pain Dean clutched Sam closer, “You did this to my brother?”

“Please,” the witch scoffed. “He was already on the precipice, I just helped. Crazy fucking things he’s got in his head, so many interesting levers to pull. And that curse on him? Only made things easier.”

“No. He was fine,” Dean said decisively through his gritting teeth. “He was _fine._ _You_ did this to h—”

The witch laughed, “Oh my god, really? I got just a _peek_ in there and I can tell you he hasn't been _‘fine’_ in years!” She put a finger to her chin. “Actually...” She grinned again,  and reached a hand out at Sam, her eyes lighting up a rich indigo.

“Stop—!” Dean cried out.

Cas shakily lunged at the witch, but she just flicked her other arm holding the book, throwing him into the wall.

Her hand landed on Sam's head, gripping his scalp and causing Sam's shallow breath to catch in pain. Dean tried to pull back, but the witch held firm. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she squeezed them shut.

When they opened again, they opened wide.

“Holy _cow,"_  she said, the light in her eyes fading out. “Holy _fuck._.. _Dean._ " She turned her horrid smile on him, obviously relishing the new knowledge of his name. _“Dean,_  oh, _Dean_...Do you know who put little Sammy there? Do you know _who_ put him there on that precipice?” That smile impossibly sharpened. “Oh, Dean, it was _y_ _ou._ ”

Dean's eyes flicked between hers, *What?*

 _“You_ did this to your brother, Dean. _You_ pushed him into this state!”

Sam shifted in Dean’s arms.

*What? No...* Dean murmured, *no, I—*

“Who always refuses to speak about _any_ of the shit that happens to you two?" the witch began, looming above him. "Who shoved Sam's crap aside while _your_ crap always took center stage? You brushed off his  _injuries,_  you belittled his _concerns—_ and anytime he dared to object you shut him right the fuck up with shame and fists... I mean, the Demon Blood, Ruby, Lilith, _Amy, Benny,_ _Gadreel —_ Holy _shit,_ I’m getting a head rush from all the shit in there and I don’t even understand _half_ of it but _fuck._ ” The witch wobbled slightly on her feet. “You took your father’s side in everything for decades, you wouldn't tell him anything about his own mother— You blamed him for the Apocalypse you started, you blamed him for not knowing his own soul was missing, you blamed him for... for not searching for you after he thought you'd gone to Heaven? When he'd finally found a slice of happiness? Holy _fuck_... _Dean_... You’re the fucking _worst."_

“No...” Dean shook his head over Sam, “No, it wasn’t— That wasn’t like—” He curled lower into himself, the pain in his abdomen spreading through his torso. *He forgave me…*

“But he didn't forget, did he!” the witch beamed. “He forgave you so he could stand to be with you, so he could stay with you the way you've _always_ guilted him to, but he never forgot. Never forgot how you _looked_ at him. How you couldn’t _trust_ him. _How you hated him—”_

*No—* Sam tried to sit up.

 _"There_ he is!” the witch bubbled with false warmth in her voice.  _“Just_ the man I wanted to see!”

“No— Dean—” Sam leaned to sit on his own, keeping a tight grip on Dean's arm, “No, that’s not—”

 _"Ohp,_  no-no-no!” With a flick of her wrist she forced Sam to face her. “You can deal with that later, _Mama’s_ talkin’ now.”

She stepped forward toward Sam, shoes clicking on the bare concrete. Then she crouched down in front of him, and leaned in close, "You see... I’ve got something to tell you, _Sam Winchester,_ ” she said, her voice low and dark.

She gripped his chin and jerked his head to the side, pressing her lips against his ear as she whispered: *I know where the selkies are. _And you led me right to them._ *

She pulled back, her hand still clutching his chin. The witch stared right into Sam's eyes as that washed over him, as the horror dawned on his face. Her own eyes fell heavy, and her tongue ran over her lip. “Oh, Sam..." she sighed, "I’ve been waiting _so long_ for that look…”

She threw his head to the side and stood back up, moving out into the middle of the room.

 _“Ohhh,_ watch out, baby, here comes the _monologue! Yes!_ ” she shouted with glee. _“Oh!_ I’ve been waiting a _month_ to watch the hope drain from your eyes! I put a tracking spell on you, you stupid _dick!_ You found the ones on my selkies but you didn’t check yourself! You didn't even _think_ to check yourself did you, idiot! You’re protected against possession and scrying and so much more but all I needed was a little tracking spell slipped under the door! I mean— oh my _god!"_  she shouted at the ceiling, “I can’t believe this all worked! All I had to do was wait for you to come back to them— and I almost thought you’d left for good, but then you came back and I all I had to do was _follow you_ down to the river! I mean, I can’t believe they haven’t left the river, those stupid animals, probably could have found them myself _weeks_ ago. But you. You big, dumb, stupid man. All you had to do was stay away from your little girlfriend and I would have sat on my ass for _so long_ — You could have at least stayed to protect them, but no, you _left!_ You actually left them unprotected! And you gave me just the _best_ idea!”

She spun around in a twirl, her arms spread wide, _“Ohh, yes._ You are going to _wait_ here while I go _slaughter_ every last one of Crowley’s little selkies, just to send him the pieces. Kick _me_ out of my own operation, all the work I'd done, for one little slip up for siding with Asmodeus— fine! But I’ll fuck your day _right up,_  you prissy dick!”

She clasped her hands and leered at Sam. “I called you with a fake phone call and now you’re _here,_ and now you're going to _wait_ here while I kill them all, and _then…_ ” she dropped her voice, “I’m going to bring _you_ the pieces.”

She stood and flashed her teeth to them once more. “And then I'll kill you, of course.”

And she vanished.

_“No!”_

Sam lunged at the place the witch had just been, but he stumbled, still weak, and she was still gone.

“No!” He pounded his fist on the floor.

He pushed himself to his feet, taking quick, shaking steps to the door. He fell against it heavily, yanking the handle.

“Sam…” Cas croaked.

Sam slammed a fist into the door. Then he spun back, crossed the room in three steps, and picked up his gun.

“Sam, wait—!”

He took aim and shot the door handle once— twice— and again— and again— Sam just kept firing, kept firing at the handle, firing at the door. Dean and Cas were trying to reach him but they could barely stand on their own and Sam was emptying his magazine into the door and the bullets were ricocheting back into the room and his face was curling with rage and panic until—

His leg gave out from under him.

Dean and Cas finally reached him, falling over themselves through their own pain.

“Wait,” Dean roughly grabbed Cas by the arm, “The warding, that one, and that one,” he pointed.

Wordlessly agreeing, Cas stumbled to the brick wall and started scraping at the paint with his blade. Dean went to another.

“Yes, that’s enough,” Cas confirmed after a few were broken. He went to Sam, a little steadier now. Dean kept scraping at the other wardings, one arm absently wrapped around his stomach.

After a notably low glow over Sam’s wound, Cas pulled away with it healed and the bullet sitting in his hand.

“It’s not perfect, but you should be able to walk until I can—”

“No, Cas, thanks,” Sam said quickly. He got back to his feet and headed for the door again.

“Hey!” Dean barked. “Dammit, would you fucking _stop_ for a moment, Sam!”

Dean's eyes widened, the finger he was pointing at Sam fell.

Sam hurriedly raised his palms at the horror in his brother’s eyes, “Dean, everything she said—”

“No,” Dean stopped him. “No, not now, we have to get out of here. We have to warn them—”

“Fuck!” Sam scrambled for his phone so fast he almost dropped it. He dialed and held it to his ear.

The line rang and rang.

“Fucking _Direl,"_ Sam grated, "don’t you fucking ignore me right now, _goddamnit—_ ”

———

“No!” Bris shouted at the witch.

Inas pushed in front of Bris and pulled a short knife from their belt. “Run!”

“Inas—”

_“Now, girl!”_

Bris took off back through the trees, running faster than she ever had in her life. How could they have walked so far away from camp?

Her family soon came into sight. She saw Direl first, pulling his phone from his pocket and raising it to his ear, “Sam?”

———

Inas slashed at the witch, but she took a lazy step backwards.

“Please,” the witch spat.

———

“Direl!” Sam shouted into the phone.

_“Sam, what do you—”_

“The witch is headed for you, Direl, that witch is back and she’s coming for you all—”

_“The witch? You mean the—? Bris? Bris, what’s wrong?”_

“Put me on speaker!”

_“Sam—”_

“There's no time, Direl! _Put me on speaker!”_

_“I— fine—”_

———

Direl lowered the phone from his ear.

“Direl,” Bris pleaded, “where’s Ballo?”

“What's going—?”

 _“The witch is back and she’s coming for all of you!”_ Sam shouted from Direl’s hand. _“She found you and I’m so sorry— You have to run, we won’t make it to you in time—”_

 _“Where is Ballo!”_ Bris grabbed Direl by the coat.

“Here, lass,” Ballo rushed to them.

“The witch, she’s here, from the farm—” Bris repeated desperately.

 _“She’s coming to kill you all, you have to run NOW!”_ Sam shouted from the phone.

Hearing all he needed, Ballo spun and roused the camp, “ _We’re under attack!”_ he boomed, “Everyone out! Guard, behind!”

The camp erupted in a panicked frenzy. The _dobthar-chú_ leapt to their feet, whistling high and piercing, about a third of the selkies started assembling around Ballo, a small group guided Sebhin and the pregnant selkies to the creek, and the rest were frantically sprinting to the water.

 _“Direl! Bris!”_ Sam was shouting, _“Hey! What is this 'guard'? You’re not going to fight her? Somebody answer me!”_

“A’course we are!” Bris shouted, “Everyone else needs time to get out!”

“ _No— No, you can't—!”_

“Sam, you can either start sayin’ helpful shit or you can hang the fuck up,” Bris snapped, regretting immediately that these were her first words to him in days.

_“I— Damn it! This witch, you have to expect anything, she has a spellbook on her, she could throw almost anything at you—"_

———-

Inas thrust forward again but the witch dodged it. She rolled her eyes, and with a twist of her hand took control of Inas’s own. Inas’s eyes flew wide, looking between their hand and the witch. Realizing what was about to happen, Inas forced their hand open and dropped the knife just as the witch flicked her wrist and slammed Inas’s now-empty fist into their gut.

Winded, Inas stumbled. The witch stepped forward.

Still clutching their stomach, Inas swerved, rushing around the witch and taking off east, heading for the river and away from their camp to the south.

The witch rolled her eyes after them. “Like I'm that stupid,” she said, and began walking toward the camp.

———

“ _—but she’s still just a witch, she's still just a person,_ ” Sam continued, _“she still bleeds, and if it bleeds you can kill it. If you can take her down, we can keep her dead. We’ll be right behind you and we can keep her dead._ ”

“What— _'keep her dead’?”_   Bris shouted, “Dead is dead!”

_“Wait, no, don’t think about that, just kill her now and I’ll be right there, Bris, I’ll be right there for you—”_

“Sam, dammit—”

_“—but you have to be careful. Please, fuck, run if you have to! Be careful, Bris, please!”_

“Sam… Damn it.”

Direl lifted the phone to Bris, offering it to her. She took it and turned around to watch the woods with the rest of the guard, waiting for the witch to appear.

A terrible thought struck her.

“Sam, if I don’t make it—”

_“No, Bris—”_

_“If I don’ make it,”_ she said over him, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you wait.”

 _"Bris, no, please,”_ Sam was truly begging now, his voice shaking, _“just run, just get out of there—_ ”

There, cresting the hill now, there she was. Strolling down the gently falling woodland right toward them. Approaching like was an old friend, like she hadn’t been their personal nightmare for the last years of their lives.

“Sam?” Bris said, staring down her fate.

_“Yeah, Bris? Please, what?”_

She swallowed, and forced her voice not to waver. “You better'a meant it when you said you’d pull me outta Purgatory.”

She hung up before he could respond.

———

_“NO!”_

Sam gripped the phone so tightly his hands shook. “You can’t—” He turned to Dean, tears threatening to spill. “She’s fighting her— They’re going to try to—”

Dean was already pulling his own phone out.

Cas came back from checking the door while Sam had been speaking to Direl. “There’s powerful magic on this room, I can’t get us out.”

Sam looked down at the floor. "Every time..." He shut his eyes. "Not again... Every time..."

Dean continued scraping at one of the last wardings while his phone rang. It picked up on the third ring.

_“I told you I’m busy—”_

“Crowley, we need your help!”

Crowley puffed. _“Bet you just need a deus ex machina.”_

“We don't have time for—”

 _“Nevermind,”_  he sighed. _“What mess have you gotten yourself into this time?”_

“We're trapped by a witch and we don’t have time to wait out the spells on the—”

“ _Mh,_ indeed you don't. This is high-level,” Crowley said from next to him.

“God _damn_ it!”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You should really expect this by now.”

“What, you or this?” 

“Both, really.” Crowley sauntered over to a sigil. He swiped at the paint with a finger and tasted it. “Well would you look at that, this was _my_ witch.” He tipped his head. “Well, formerly.”

“Crowley we don’t have time for this!” Sam charged into his space. “We have to get out of here _now!"_

Crowley raised his chin, looking him up and down. “And what do I get out of it?”

“You _imp,”_   Cas made a move at Crowley but Sam grabbed him by the lapels first.

“I don’t _care!”_   Sam answered him. “We—”

Crowley blinked out of his grasp and reappeared ten feet to the side, smoothing out the front of his coat. “I know for a fact that you care a great deal. So I’ll ask again, what do I get out of this?”

“Crowley—” Dean started.

“Please, Squirrel, wait your turn,” he said, still smiling at Sam, “I’m dealing with Moose right now.”

Sam glared at him a moment longer, fists shaking at his sides.

“What do you want?” he answered Crowley.

“Oh I get to pick?" Crowley placed a disingenuous hand over his heart. "Well then, how about I make a suggestion: I’ll help you now and tell you what I want later. How’s that sound?” 

Sam looked him over one last time.

“Fine.”

“Sam—” Cas started.

“Done,” Crowley smirked.

And he vanished.

“What—” Sam looked around. _“No!_ God damn it— _Crowley!"_

———

 

[{please click me and allow to play in the background}](https://open.spotify.com/track/0pqnGHJpmpxLKifKRmU6WP?si=utvYU1-rR92AxTBBIYXwng) 

 

Bris and the selkie guard stepped forward as a group, slowly spreading into a line two deep. Ballo made his way to the center to take point as the far ends of the line picked up their pace, forming a curve toward the witch.

“Arms!” Ballo barked.

They each reached into their belt and pulled out their knives. Ballo held the angel blade Cas had allowed him to keep.

“Well isn’t this cute?” the witch teased as she walked. “You think you can stop me. My sweet _babies,_  you can’t hurt me.”

Just as the witch met them at the apex of the curve Ballo shouted, _“Teilg!”_

The selkies on the ends of the line, flanking the witch, flipped their knives and threw them at her. The witch threw up her hand and stopped all of them—

She screamed.

—but one that landed in her thigh, dark blood quickly soaking her pants.

“You mangy _rats!"_  she screeched. The thrown daggers rose in the air and were launched back at the selkies. They successfully ducked them, and doubled back to snatch them up from the ground. The witch yanked the knife from her leg and threw it down.

 _“Chun cinn!”_ Ballo ordered.

As one they surged forward and rushed the witch. They each took a shot at her and immediately fell back for the next selkie to take their place, twisting and spinning, always moving, impossible to target. Blades flashed and they managed to land a few hits before her arms shot up again and they were thrown back in a wave, falling heavily to the ground.

She began firing off spells, rapidly, targeting a different selkie each time, “You are _insolent, rude,_ little _shits,_ who need to _remember. what. you._ _are!”_ Selkies all around were doubling over when they didn’t dodge fast enough.

“Fall back!” Ballo instructed. “South!”

Slightly disorganized, the selkies retreated, skirting the edge of the campsite. They ducked behind the trees as the witch continued to approach, still firing off spells.

“Because what you _are_ is _mine!_ You will _always_ be _mine!"_

One spell hit the tree Bris was crouched behind. Bark and wood went flying as she ducked her head under her hands.

“My, my, look at you all!” the witch sighed, beaming as she strolled forward, “I bet you’re all the strongest ones, aren’t you? Once I take you out this will be like crushing mice—”

“Bitch!” a selkie screeched, and lunged at the witch.

The witch lazily closed her free hand and the selkie collapsed to her knees. She flicked her wrist and she went flying, hitting a tree and landing heavily on the ground. She groaned, but didn’t get back up.

“Where was I?” the witch put a finger to her chin, “Right, going to kill each of you whelps slowly, one by one.”

The witch walked forward, unknowingly surrounding herself again.

 _“Teilg!”_ Ballo shouted.

The selkies that were flanking her, about half of them, threw their blades again. The witch stopped them all this time and allowed them to fall to the ground.

“Fall back! Unarmed to the water!” Ballo ordered.

They all sprinted south, allowing the witch to follow them. Spells were hitting trees all around them, wood chips as sharp as their blades flying through the air.

When they reached the bank of the river, the unarmed selkies slid down the steep hill and leapt into the water, slipping into their coats. The other selkies sheltered behind the trees once again.

The witch appeared near the bank, catching them by surprise.

But Ballo thought fast, _“Chun cinn!”_

They rushed her again, stabbing and falling back. Bris lunged forward and caught her arm, but the witch flailed and knocked her dagger out of her hand. She retreated to the back, unarmed.

The witch thrust her free hand forward, a specific target in mind. Ballo began to rise from the ground, clutching at his throat.

The witch threw her hand and Ballo went flying behind them all, right into a tree trunk. There was a sickening crack, and Ballo crumpled to the ground, howling, clutching at his leg.

Bris jumped to re-arm herself with his dropped angel blade.

She rejoined the assault. They pushed her back and back, right up to the sharp bank of the river until—

The witch’s foot caught on a stump.

Bris, next for a shot, grabbed her by the shoulder, and thrust the angel blade into her stomach.

The spellbook in her hand vanished.

“What?” The witch looked between her empty hand and Bris looking her dead in the eye. “But… you _can’t…_ you’re… you’re _mine_...”

Bris twisted the blade, the witch screamed.

“We don’t belong to no one.”

She yanked out the blade, flipped it in her hand, and punched the witch square in the jaw.

The witch flailed and fell back, her feet slipping and scrabbling as she careened over the edge of the slope and fell—

Right into the waiting jaws of her family.

The sounds of tearing flesh and thrashing water reached them up at the bank. The other selkies rushed forward to gather around Bris and watch the witch's final demise.

Chest heaving, blood pounding, flying high on the rush of battle, Bris thumped Direl across the chest.

“Gimme tha’ damned phone, lad.”

———

Sam was pacing in circles, tearing at his hair, “That  _asshole!_ That _bastard!_ That—”

“Lying cloud of revulsion?” Cas offered.

“Goodness, Feathers, tell me how you really feel.”

 _“Crowley!"_  Sam bore down on him, hands rising to the height of his neck.

Crowley blinked across the room. “Please, Samantha, I just had this suit pressed. Besides—” He held up a spellbook. “Ding, dong, and all that. And I expect you’re about to get a phone call in three… two…“

Sam’s phone rang.

 _“Damn,_  so close.” Crowley ticked his head to the side.

Sam scrambled for his phone, “Bris? Direl?“

———

“Sam,” Bris smiled.

_“Oh god, Bris! Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”_

“Yeah, Sam, we’ve got some injuries but— She’s dead. She's  _r_ _eally fuckin’_ dead.”

_“God, Bris… Where are you? We’ll be right there—”_

_“Ach,_ I’ll have Direl send ye that, don’t got a clue how these fancy new phones works anyhow.”

Sam chuffed.  _“I guess that's… Yeah, fair enough. I’ll have to show you sometime.”_

She shifted on her feet. Damn, if he were just here right now… “Sam, I’m s—”

 _“I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"_ Sam cut off her apology.  _“Are you…? I could… If you still need me to, I can back off again. I mean, shit, after this— I'll fuck off completely if that's what you want.”_

She couldn't help but grin into the phone. “Sam, you better get your handsome ass over here fast as ye can, ‘cause I'm not fittin’ to be patient any longer.”

And she hung up.

———

Sam slowly lowered the phone.

Dean raised an eyebrow, “Does she ever say goodbye?”

“I don't know. I— I’ve really got to talk to her about that," he answered, breathless. He stared at the phone. “I should have asked… is it... is it really her this time?”

“What part of ‘kitchy Oz reference’ and I am _literally_ holding the spellbook did you not understand?” Crowley scoffed. “Now go get your girlfriend before she changes her mind!”

Sam looked up at Crowley in disbelief, “I… Thank you, Crowley.”

 _"Another_ Winchester thank you? Is it my re-bir—”

 _“Stop,”_ Dean whined, betraying a small grin, “it’s not funny anymore!”

“Well _he_ hadn’t heard it yet!” Crowley pouted. “Now you’ve gone and ruined it.”

“I need to get out of here,” Sam said, his head popping up to look around. His phone buzzed, a message from Direl with their location pinned on a map. ”I need to get _there!"_

“Right.” Crowley walked up between Sam and Dean, and placed his hands on their shoulders before they could react.

They appeared outside the warehouse next to the Impala.

Now out of that room, their minds suddenly felt clearer, brighter, more able to see the big picture again.

Dean curled his lip, “God damn it, I _hate_ mind tricks…”

One hand idly going to his stomach, Dean looked around the empty parking lot. He rolled his eyes and gave Crowley a Look.

“Oh, _fine.”_

He blinked out and reappeared with Cas.

Cas jerked himself from Crowley's hand and turned away from them all, taking off down the parking lot.

“Cas, where are you going?” Dean called after him.

He didn’t answer.

“Well I guess not everyone appreciates my work,” Crowley said.

“Shit— Cas!” Sam called.

“Hey.” Dean dug in his pockets and held out the keys to Sam, “Go get her, tiger, we’ll catch up.”

Relief flowed over Sam with a breathless laugh. He grabbed the keys and pulled Dean into a hug.

Dean thumped him on the back, “Alright, alright,” he grumbled. “Now get outta here!” He shoved Sam a little.

Sam ran to the driver’s door and was about to slip in when he looked back to Crowley. “You couldn’t just… take me there, could you?”

“Pretty _bold_ for someone who was about to strangle me. Not that it would have done anything, but, point.”

Sam leaned forward a bit.

Crowley rolled his eyes, “One favor at a time, Moose.”

Sam frowned at him, hopped impatiently on the spot, and slid into the driver’s seat. He started her up and peeled out with a roar in a bid to tear back up the parking lot.

“Hey, _easy!"_  Dean shouted after him. “Bitch.”

Dean turned to follow Cas, who was almost to the other end of the buildings already, when he remembered something.

He turned back to Crowley and asked, “So what was with that cassette thing you gave me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know, a cassette, to listen to music? Make mixtapes for your girlfriend on ‘em? ...Or your— friend.” He blinked.

“I know what a _cassette_ is, you ass, I didn’t _give_ you one.”

“Huh, alright, that’s weird,” he tossed his eyebrows. Then he looked back to Crowley, “Hey. Thanks again, man. Um, can you call me about Hell when you stop being busy?”

Crowley shrugged. “Not busy right now.”

Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Cas’s retreating back. “Well I am, so… later?”

Crowley’s eyes flicked to Cas and back. His upper lip twitched almost imperceptibly. “Later.”

He vanished as Dean turned to catch up with Cas. He picked up a jog, any faster hurt too much.

Alright, so if not Crowley, then who else would've given him that gift? Couldn’t have been Sam, he would have whined that Dean hadn’t said anything about it by now. So who else would get him a cassette that probably let you play music over a tape deck—

Wait…

_Shit._

Dean broke into a full run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Believer - Imagine Dragons}  
> First things first:  
> I'ma say all the words inside my head,  
> I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been, oh, (ooh)  
> The way that things have been, oh, (ooh)
> 
> Second thing second:  
> Don't you tell me what you think that I can be,  
> I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea, oh, (ooh)  
> The master of my sea, oh, (ooh)
> 
> I was broken from a young age,  
> Takin' my sulkin' to the masses,  
> Writein' my poems for the few,  
> That looked at me, took to me, shook to me, feeling me,  
> Singin' from heartache, from the pain,  
> Takin' my message from the veins,  
> Speakin' my lesson from the brain,  
> Seein' the beauty through the—
> 
> (Pain)  
> You made me a, you made me a believer, believer,  
> (Pain)  
> You break me down, you build me up, believer, believer,  
> (Pain)  
> Let the bullets fall, oh let them rain,  
> My life, my love, my drive, it came from,  
> (Pain)  
> You made me a, you made me a believer, believer,
> 
> Third things third:  
> Send a prayer to the ones up above,  
> All the hate that you've heard has turned your spirit to a dove, oh, (ooh)  
> Your spirit up above, oh, (ooh)
> 
> I was chokin' in the crowd,  
> Buildin' my rain up in the cloud,  
> Fallin' like ashes to the ground,  
> Hopin' my feelin's, they would drown,  
> But they never did, ever lived, ebbin' and flowin',  
> Inhibited, limited, 'til it broke open and rained down,  
> It rained down, like—
> 
> (Pain)  
> You made me a, you made me a believer, believer,  
> (Pain)  
> You break me down, you built me up, believer, believer,  
> (Pain)  
> I let the bullets fall, oh let them rain,  
> My life, my love, my drive, it came from,  
> (Pain)  
> You made me a, you made me a believer, believer,
> 
> Last things last:  
> By the grace of the fire and the flames,  
> You're the face of the future, the blood in my veins, oh, (ooh)  
> The blood in my veins, oh, (ooh)  
> But they never did, ever lived, ebbin' and flowin',  
> Inhibited, limited, 'til it broke open and rained down,  
> It rained down, like—
> 
> (Pain)  
> You made me a, you made me a believer, believer,  
> (Pain)  
> You break me down, you built me up, believer, believer,  
> (Pain)  
> I let the bullets fall, oh let them rain,  
> My life, my love, my drive, it came from,  
> (Pain)  
> You made me a, you made me a believer, believer


	10. The Gift

####  The Gift 

 

_Three days ago:_

 

Cas wandered the aisles of a little thrift store, probably the fiftieth one he’d checked just today.

It wasn’t, but the hyperbole helped to channel his frustration.

He was searching for something. Something very specific. And it was proving very difficult to find.

Weeks ago, Dean had said something. Although, Dean was always saying something. Dean frequently said things that he didn't understand— nor probably intend— the full implication of:

_You'll touch that stereo over my dead body._

Cas had told him and Sam that he was looking for Lucifer, that he was going places that they couldn't follow.

Hopefully this endeavor would be worth the look on Dean’s face as Cas had left the bunker.

He stopped in front of the display of miscellaneous electronics, and sighed.

What was he doing?

Well, he knew _what_ he was doing...

But why?

He exhaled sharply. Because of the damned chocolates. Because of those damned flowers. Because of damned Crowley and his damned hellhounds.

Cas wasn't stupid. He knew what Crowley was doing. He was using gifts and favors to try to worm his way into their good graces. Specifically Dean’s good graces. He wanted something, and Dean, with too much care in his heart, loyal to a fault to those who help him, would probably relent to it eventually.

Perhaps a gift like this from Cas, something practical and tailored to Dean’s interests, would help Dean remember that Crowley wasn’t the only one who could be useful. Perhaps a gift from Cas would help him ignore Crowley. Ignore that damned rose, all of the assistance he had been giving,

That _wink._

Something snapped in his hands. He looked down. The small package that he had been holding was now a crumpled ball. He gingerly put it back on the shelf and stared at his hands.

They balled into shaking fists.

Damned—

Cas returned to his search, putting that far from his mind.

He needed to stop kidding himself. He knew what else Crowley wanted. And he’d be damned himself if he let Crowley win that.

Not that there was really a need. Dean didn’t want that kind of attention.

So why was Cas still trying anyway?

Because Sam had said something, too. Something that he also probably never intended the full implication of:

_Well Dean is a huge romantic, so..._

Cas shut his eyes. Dean especially didn’t want that. Not from anyone. Ten years of experience had made that very clear.

Not that it had made things any clearer for himself. The question of _why_ jumped to the front of his mind over and over again, but no matter how many times he poked at it, it _never_ became any clearer. In fact, it only seemed to get worse as time went on.

He decided to just leave this tiny store. It had been a waste of time to check here, they were never going to have it, none of the other stores had. Perhaps he should just go back empty-handed and forget the whole—

He stopped.

There.

There it was.

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

Cas didn’t know Dean’s favorite color, so he went with his own, finding a small green box with a bow of green ribbon flecked with gold.

When had green become his favorite?

Oh, about ten years ago now.

Cas shut his eyes and brought his mind to heel. He asked himself, again, why he was doing this. Why was he going to sneak this little box into Dean's room in the middle of the night? Why wasn't he going to wake him up to show him what he'd found? Or just wait until morning? Surely Dean would like this gift, and Cas would enjoy that Dean would enjoy it. Then he would know right away whether Dean liked his gift better than Crowley’s. So why was he too nervous to just do that?

If only he had someone to talk to. Sam became agitated when the subject of him and Dean came up, and this didn't feel like an appropriate topic to bring up with Claire. But who could he talk to?

 

Another angel might know.

 

Cas winced.

No, he was going to have to suss this out for himself.

Cas silently opened the door to Dean’s room, placed the gift at the end of the bed, and crept back out, like he was never there.

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

He waited in Dean’s still-currently-unnamed entertainment room until he smelled and heard Dean making breakfast. He then moved to the library to wait for him and Sam to finish, not wanting to intrude on their surprisingly consistent, almost choreographed routine of making food and coffee.

From his seat he heard faint conversation and then some shouting. Then a lull and more shouting. Evidently Ketch was here in the bunker— and was _staying_ in the bunker— and Dean didn’t like it. Surely Sam and Dean would explain the context for all that to him in a bit.

Then Dean barreled through the library and down the hall, not even glancing at Cas. He heard his door slam.

A short while later Sam left the kitchen, also heading for the hallway. He looked distracted, and frankly hung over, so Cas didn’t blame him when he also walked right past him.

Ketch left the kitchen last, but he turned toward the library tables. He looked up from his coffee, saw Cas, and stopped in his tracks.

“Oh. Hello.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at him.

“Um, I come in peace?” He raised his palm and the coffee mug.

 _Dean’s_ coffee mug.

Cas’s eyes narrowed further.

“I’m in hiding from Asmodeus," Ketch blurted, "and our resident good-samaritan hunters have graciously allowed me to stay here.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, really, I’m even helping in exchange.” He nodded at the table.

Ready to catch his angel blade, Cas turned around to the large piles of paper and folders behind him.

“Not a clue what it’s for,” Ketch continued, "but I’ve just forged about forty-odd Irish-issue driver's licenses for them.”

Cas turned back to stare him down.

“Right.” Ketch squirmed under the scrutiny. He backed away, hands still raised, toward the hallway. “Perhaps I’ll just… wait for them to explain it to you.”

Cas listened as Ketch left, soon hearing a door about halfway down the hallway close. He strained for more. He could just barely hear the muffled sounds of Sam and Dean speaking, probably in Dean’s room, then that door opened and he caught the tail end of a conversation that seemed to be about what Dean did and did not know. Soon after, Sam— he presumed— ran down the hall and slammed his own door.

Something may be going on, or their human emotions may be getting the better of them again, causing undue strife. Apparently, in his nervousness, Cas couldn’t be bothered to care.

He fidgeted as he waited, wringing his hands and bouncing his knee. Dean should have seen the gift by now, but... maybe it fell on the floor and he didn’t see it. Maybe when it fell it had broke. Maybe he _did_ see it but he didn’t—

His meandering anxieties were cut short when Dean finally entered the library again. He looked extremely pleased, and Cas’s hope soared.

His experience with humans had taught him that a smile could have an unconscious calming effect on the person one was speaking to, and vice versa with the expression of negative emotions— no doubt a side effect of being such intensely social beings— so Cas decided to cover his nerves with a small, relaxed smile. At least, he hoped it was, it was much more difficult to tell when not in front of a mirror.

“Good morning, Dean,” he said, making sure Dean saw him this time.

Dean froze. When he turned to Cas, the pleased look was gone and he was very pale.

Cas tried to lead them into the inquiry he wanted to make by engaging Dean about the case it seemed they had found, judging from the bag on his shoulder, but Dean wasn’t following the typical rules of a conversation. He wasn't answering his questions, stammering and leaving sentences unfinished.

And he continued to pale, so much so that Cas was about to ask about it when Dean suddenly declared he needed something and ran back down the hall he had just left.

Cas frowned at the floor.

He went over the conversation again in his mind, and soon came to the realization that Dean hadn’t become uncomfortable until Cas had greeted him.

His fragile hope plummeted.

 

Dean had seen the gift alright.

 

And he had hated it.

 

———

 

Not long after, Sam entered the library with his own bag. He noticed Cas this time, and stopped with a smile.

“Hey, Cas, you’re back! Find anything out there?”

“Nothing about Lucifer’s whereabouts, no.”

Sam grunted in some sort of response. “Well I’ve got news for you," he said. "Good thing you’re already sitting.”

The news that Gabriel was probably alive was elating, but also not surprising in the least. This was Gabriel they were talking about, after all. Sam wanted to know if they could mount a rescue mission to Hell on their own, but unfortunately that was beyond his capabilities as a single Seraph. Cas had to bitterly agree that they would require Crowley’s help with this, and unfortunately Crowley wasn’t taking calls or summons right now.

There was better news, though. The Seal of Solomon might be in Rhode Island, and so he and Dean had been about to head out that way.

As Cas patted his pockets, ensuring he had everything he would want to have on the trip, an idea came to him. Maybe he was misinterpreting Dean’s reactions. Even after ten years, that still happened from time to time. Maybe Dean would bring the gift along and use it on the trip. Maybe he liked it after all. Maybe Cas could still hope.

 

———

 

Dean didn’t bring the gift and hope was the worst emotion available.

 

———

 

Dean avoided eye contact for the entire nine hour and forty-two minute drive.

 

———

 

Dean refused to walk with him down the trail to the river. He stayed a few feet away the entire time.

 

———

 

Dean was uncomfortable with Direl looking into his chest. He panicked further when Cas glanced over, though he could see nothing.

 

———

 

Dean pulled him from the mob, but refused to look at him after.

 

———

 

Dean didn't want to come into the motel room because Cas was in it.

He wanted Cas to stop saying positive things to him.

 

———

 

Finally, one of the most depressingly disappointing days Cas had ever been through reached its end, and the morning came. But Dean was curt with him again, and still wouldn’t look at him.

But then, after a relatively long shower, Dean had come back out in nothing but a towel.

And something strange had happened.

Cas couldn’t stop looking. But not his typical looking, analyzing Dean’s mood or gauging his body language, this was… just looking. He realized then that since he'd been back from the Empty, he hadn’t yet seen Dean without a shirt on, and it was… very different than before.

Dean noticed the difference, and asked him about it, but Cas's perpetually confounding nervousness caused him to avoid discussing it. And so Dean had left again, the only time Cas was grateful for it in the last twenty-four hours.

 

———

 

At first, Cas had done well at the small warehouse. Then he had been overpowered by layer upon layer of intense warding, and was incapacitated. He may as well have not even been there. Sam’s mind had been afflicted, and Dean was in terrible pain, and then that witch had _invaded_ Sam’s mind, and attacked Dean with twisted words— But Cas could do nothing. He was tossed aside like the nothing he was. Even once the witch left all he could do was haphazardly heal Sam’s bullet wound. He couldn’t break the witch's spells. He couldn’t get them out.

And upon his failure, who had Dean called immediately?

Crowley.

Crowley came to them. Crowley saved the selkies. Crowley killed the witch. Crowley removed them all from the room.

And Dean was smiling so brightly.

And Sam had  _thanked_ him.

It was too much. So rather than sour Sam’s important moment, he had left. He would find them later. Perhaps at the bunker. They probably wouldn’t even notice he was missing until another door needed to be opened.

“Cas, where are you going?” Dean had called after him.

He didn’t know. So he didn’t answer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where's the happiness, you ask? Ten chapters now and I was promised happiness, you say? Well hold on just a little longer, honey, it's comin' here, I promise.  
> (Very optional music link in this chapter.)

Dean ran as fast as he could after Cas. God _damn,_  how the hell did the guy  _walk_ so fast?

_Well he’s probably pissed_

Fuck- How could Dean have been so stupid? Of course Crowley wouldn’t give him something he might actually _like._ Crowley gave him stupid shit, candy and flowers and shit.

He reached the end of the parking lot and skidded to a halt on the rough surface, his chest heaving, his arm clutching his stomach against the burning, stabbing pain. He flipped back and forth, trying to see which way Cas could have gone—

“Cas!” he shouted, _“Cas!”_

“What?”

Dean whirled around. Cas was right there, crouched, leaning against the building.

“Oh.” He hadn’t gone that far at all.

Dean went to Cas and dropped roughly to the ground next to him, leaning against the wall, still breathing heavily from the pain and the sprinting.

“Cas—” he tried to start.

Cas snapped to him, eyes wide with panic, “Dean, you’re still hurt—”

“No’m’not.” Dean pushed his hand away.

“I thought— When the witch died— Dean, I’m so sorry—”

“Cas, stop, I gotta—”

Cas maneuvered around Dean’s protesting arm and placed his open palm against his chest to heal him.

 _“Why_ do you do this?” Cas asked as he withdrew his hand. “Why don’t you let me help you?”

But Dean had no time for that. “Cas,” he said, “Cas, I fucked up.”

“Yes, you aggravated the internal lacerations by running—”

 _“No,_ Cas! That gift!” Cas’s eyes jumped to his. “In the little box, was— Was that you?”

Confusion scrunched Cas’s face. “You didn’t know that I gave it to you?”

“Nah, man.” Dean shook his head with a chuckle. “Dude, I was so pissed, I thought it was from fucking _Crowley,_  one of his stupid-ass things, like that stupid-ass rose.”

So many expressions passed over Cas’s face Dean had a hard time reading them all. Happiness was one, confusion was in there again, but he landed on something like devastation. “So it was ‘stupid-ass’ like his gifts. That’s how you misattributed it.”

“What? No! It’s cool!” Dean spread his hands and smiled. “It’s for the car, right? So you can play music through the tape deck?”

“Yes,” Cas looked up in surprise, “so you don’t have to change the stereo.”

“Yeah, no, that’s awesome, Cas,” Dean tapped his arm with the back of his hand, “I really wish I’d brought it with us.”

“If it wasn’t so difficult to find I’d offer to get you another.”

Before Dean's guilt could get going Cas tilted his head slightly, questioning, "So it really wasn't ‘stupid-ass’? You're not just saying this now to curtail my negative mood?”

“Fuck no, of course not! Look, I didn't— Dammit, I told you before, I say stupid shit all the time—” Dean stopped. “Maybe I need to get better about not saying stupid shit around you. Make it easier for you.”

“Of course I would appreciate that, but you shouldn't change just for me.”

“Why not? Might be better for the both of us.”

The corner of Cas’s mouth twitched up in one of his sad little smiles.

Butterflies assaulted Dean's ill-prepared stomach. In his panic about Cas being pissed, Dean had completely forgotten to care about his other bullshit.

Unfortunately, Cas hadn’t. 

“But if you didn’t even think the gift was from me… and you weren’t mad at me for giving it… then… what were you going to tell me in the bar? Why have you been—?”

“A total tool?” Dean sighed.

“I was going to say avoidant.”

Dean's mouth tried to twitch with a smile.  He quashed it quickly. “It's… It's just stupid shit, Cas, don't worry about it. Just stupid human shit goin' on in my head. It's not even you, it's just… I'm just ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag.”

“I assume the impossibility of that is part of the turn of phrase.”

Dean huffed a dry laugh, “Yeah, it is. You're getting better with those.”

The sadness left Cas’s little smile and a warmth rose in Dean's chest.

It was too much. 

He dropped his head, “How can you stand to look at me?”

Cas waited for him to explain.

“The way I've treated you. All that shit I’ve done to Sam. I just shoved it down, ignored it all. I didn't give you a passing thought while I was wrapped up in my own crap, I let myself believe Sam was fine, that he didn't need help... How can you even put up someone so…” he trailed off, not knowing what word he wanted.

But Cas understood. “Because that isn't you.”

Dean huffed. “‘Course it is, Cas. This Grade-A Bullshit is all me. It's basically all I am.” He got to his feet and offered a hand to Cas, ”Come on, we gotta go jack a car to catch up with Sam.”

Cas took the offered hand but didn't let go once he was standing. He gripped tight, and pulled Dean into a hug.

“No it isn't, Dean.”

In his surprise, it took Dean a moment to return it, but he did, and in the relative privacy of a deserted industrial park, he allowed himself to enjoy it. To let the warmth in his chest spread throughout him, even if he didn't really believe him.

Dean sighed over his shoulder.

“Thanks for sayin’ that, buddy.”

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

They were only forty minutes away, but it felt like forever.

It  _could_ have been more like ten, but Sam had to drive north just to find a bridge over the river. How did these people _live_ on a river and not just build, like, a million bridges? Seriously. Come on.

His mind was spinning. Bris said they had a few injuries, what if she was hurt? What if she  _did_ change her mind? What if the witch wasn't even dead and Crowley was lying? What if that phone call had all been another elaborate tick? _What if, what if, what if…_

He whipped through a turn and sped down a small access road, having worked himself into a full panic. When he pulled off to the side, it was all he could do to remember to reload his gun with witch-killing bullets before he tore off through the woods.

He came upon them quickly, maybe a third of all the selkies, gathered next to a creek around a few people on the ground. His heart dropped at the sight, at the thought that Bris might be one of them, she had sounded so... fine over the phone. But then one of the women, with their long, flowing hair, turned around to face him—

And there she was.

And her whole face lit up when she saw him.

And Sam’s heart soared.

If he could run any faster he would have, Dean be damned. He was rushing right in there and if he looked overeager it couldn’t matter because she was there and she was finally glad to see him and she was running to him, too, running right for him with that stunning smile he hadn’t seen in over a month—

She leapt at him, and in his surprise he caught her on reflex. She wrapped her legs around his hips and took the back of his head in her hands and she crashed into him, pulled him in for a frenetic, bruising kiss.

And it was wonderful, it was bliss, it was as amazing as he remembered and more.

He wanted to say something, to come up with something snappy and make her laugh, but he just couldn’t stop kissing her, and she wasn’t stopping anytime soon, either.

Another urge gripped him, and without parting, he moved an arm up her back and he spun them, around and around and she laughed and she whooped and he smiled against her lips and the world was a beautiful place and damn he was just so glad to be in it—

His foot caught on a stump, he stumbled, and fell to the ground, clutching her close so she landed on top of him. 

“Oh shit!” she laughed, lifting up her head.

Sam pushed himself up to sit, barely registering the other stumps jabbing into his body, and took her face in his hands, kissing her again and again.

Then after forever and no time at all, their touches slowed, and they rested their foreheads together.

Bris squeezed her eyes shut. “Sam, I’m so sorry—”

“Nah, I’m the one who spun us—”

“No, Sam. I’m so sorry I did this to you. I had my head so far up my own arse I couldn’t see—”

He cut her off with a kiss. “Don’t _ever_ apologize for getting your head on straight. I told you I’d wait for you and I meant it.”

She leaned back in his lap to look him in the eyes. “Lord above, how’d I get so lucky?”

“We’ll send Dean a fruit basket,” he answered.

She laughed again and put her head on his shoulder, hugging him close.

With a happy sigh she stood and offered a hand to him, helping him up. She wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up into his face. “We did it, Sam! We really did it! We killed her! That witch is torn to shreds!”

“Wait, Crowley didn't do it?”

“Who's Crowley?”

Sam smiled. “Hopefully you'll never know.”

She gave him an odd look, but took his hand and led them back to the rest of the selkies, and the smiles he received from them as they approached only boosted him even further—

Until he saw the two bodies on the ground, their faces covered with someone’s jackets.

“I thought you said everyone was okay?” Sam asked Bris, his voice wavering slightly.

“Witch got ‘em last night,” Ballo said from his seat leaning up against a tree. His leg was crudely splinted with a few branches and jackets.

Sam turned, horrified, back to the bodies.

_And you led me right to them._

“No…”

Bris looked up at him, “What is it, Sam?”

The necklace pulled Sam’s tongue before he could think about it. "I did this," he answered.

Bris looked at him in confusion. “Well that don’t make a lick o’ sense.”

Sam looked back at her, looked into her dark eyes, wide with questions. Maybe he could just brush it off. Maybe she didn’t need to know—

No. He finally had his chance with her, he wasn’t going to lie to her now.

“The witch… She put a tracking spell on me. When I came yesterday, she followed us and—”

“Well then fuck,” Direl interrupted, making his way back to the group from the creek, “if it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine. I told you where we was and I shouldn’t’a anyway.”

“She woulda found us eventually,” Ballo said. “She was goin’ off about ownin’ us or some shit like that, the crazy cunt. Now I—” Ballo tried to stand but winced at the pain. “C’mere, lad.”

Sam went to crouch next to him, and Ballo pulled him into a strong hug. “I knows that look. This weren’t your fault, you hear? You helped. You called with information that kept us on our toes. We woulda lost far more without that.” He let Sam pull back so he could look him sternly in the eye, “Don’t you try to put this on your own shoulders, lad."

"But if I hadn't—"

"No. _She_ did this, lad. _She_ used you. _She_ tricked you. _She_ did this. Not you.”

Sam swallowed. “Alright.” He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Aye, Sam. One fighter to another.”

Sam chuffed. “So I’m not ‘the Hunter’ anymore?”

Ballo tilted his head at Bris and lowered his voice, *From the look on her face I think I can drop the formalities, yeah?*

Sam smiled and stood again.

Just then, almost as one, the selkies perked up. "Fuck, what's that wailin' there?" one of them asked.

They turned to look back up the hill, and another selkie elbowed Sam, causing him to flinch. “Shit, boyo, you didn’ say they was comin’ too!”

Dean and Cas were approaching them, coming down the hill together. They noticed the injured on the ground, and sharply picked up their pace. Cas ignored the happy shouts around him and immediately knelt by the first injured selkie he reached.

“Shit, man, you didn’t tell us people were hurt, we woulda come faster,” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. But before Sam could answer, Dean's expression melted and he shrank into himself, “Not that— Not that I blame you or—”

“Dean, dude,” Sam put a hand on his arm, “that witch was full of shit. All that crap she said, I don’t think any of that.”

“Yeah.” Dean turned to watch Cas heal another selkie. “Yeah, sure.”

“This internal bleeding is severe, I'm impressed by your tolerance to pain,” Cas tried to reassure the nervous-looking selkie. It didn't seem to help, but Sam saw the corner of Dean’s lips lift.

As Cas stood to move to another selkie, Dean caught his attention, “Hey, Cas, those two there.” Dean pointed at the bodies lying a short distance away.

“What about them?”

“Can you… you know... “ he made a motion with his hands, “bring ‘em back?”

Cas’s face fell. He looked at the bodies and when he turned back to Dean he was filled with such raw devastation that Dean vowed to never ask him anything like that again.

“I told you in Dodge City—” he started quietly.

“I’m sorry—” Dean cut him off, “I didn’t mean to— You’ve just done it before and—” He grimaced and shut his eyes. “See, more stupid shit.”

He tried to meet Cas's eye, but Cas wouldn’t look at him for long. “I’m sorry, Cas. Really, it’s okay.”

“‘Okay.’ Right.” Cas moved on to the next injured selkie.

Dean just watched, running a hand over his mouth, *Son of a…* he mumbled under his breath.

He hastily turned back to the group, “So where's the witch's body?” he asked no one in particular. “We gotta act fast to make sure she stays dead.”

The selkies all looked at each other, most holding back smiles.

“What?”

“Well, I gots some of her right here!” one of the selkies shouted, pointing at their stomach. The others burst out laughing.

Bris tugged Sam's hand with a knowing smile. “Come on down to the river, here," she said.

Sam and Dean followed Bris down to the sharp bank. When they peered over the edge, they were greeted with a large red stain in the dirt and pieces of flesh floating in the water, slowly trailing off down the river.

“Told ya we ripped her to shreds,” Bris quipped.

Dean gave a low whistle. "Guess woodchipper really does trump everything." He chuckled to himself.

"What?" Sam side-eyed him. “Why is that so funny?”

Dean sighed happily. “Just somethin’ Bobby told me once.”

As they moved to return to the others, they saw something stir in the water. Then a lot of somethings. A crowd of seals poked their heads from the water cautiously.

Then, seeing the three of them on shore, a cacophony of barking started up, and the returning selkies rushed the shore, jumping out of their coats and running up the bank. Like enormous puppies, the _dobthar-chú_ bounded around them all, chirping and squealing with excitement. 

The whole group ran right at Bris. “Direl told us what happened!” “Said you got her good!” “Fuckin’ knocked her up the goddamn face, didja?” “That’s our girl!”

If not for the deathgrip Bris had on Sam’s hand, he would have been pushed away in the crowd. Bris positively beamed and accepted the shouts and the claps on the back, yelling right back at them over the hoopla. Sam just looked on and dedicated that smile to memory.

“Damn it all,” came a gentle voice at his elbow.

Sam looked down to see Inas giving him and Bris a terribly sad look.

“I missed it didn’t I?” They looked up at Sam. “You wouldn’t mind… as a favor to an old soul like mine… I been waitin’ a _month_ to see the look on her face.”

Sam looked between Bris and Inas and grinned, happy to oblige them and rewrite the memory for those words.

He pulled sharply on Bris’s hand, spinning her back with a yelp, and dipped her down right there for a kiss.

The crowd exploded into cheers, and Sam relished the look in her eyes when they stood back up.

Inas put a hand on his arm, “Thank you, love,” and gave a small smile of their own.

 

———

 

Back at the camp, with everyone healed, the fire restarted, and the liquor flowing freely, everyone gathered together to discuss what came next.

“T’ain’t no more threats out there, way I sees it,” Inas said. “Witch dead, hidden from demons, who else gives a tick about us?”

“Not even sure the demons care about you at this point,” Sam said, “they had a perfect chance to get you back in Wilmot but they came after us instead.”

“So I guess we finally spread out again? Avoid that attention from other Hunters?”

“Well, we’ve almost got your passports finished,” Sam said. “Give it just a little longer and we can get you all on a plane back to Ireland.”

“You know some of us ain’t gonna leave,” Direl said, “gone and found husbands an' wives here. An'... ye know...” he tipped his head bashfully, “some of us just likes it here.”

“Well nobody’s forcing you to do anything,” Dean said. “Go or don’t. Just don’t hurt anyone, don’t leave a pattern, and you’ll be fine.”

“Maybe keep in touch with everyone who wants to leave and I’ll get back to you when the paperwork is done,” Sam suggested. “Plus, this isn’t a one-time deal. I had one made for everyone, you could go anytime.”

“You know this would be a lot easier if you all just got some damn phones,” Dean grumbled.

“Don’t got the money for that,” Ballo said.

Dean eyed the drinks in everyone’s hands.

“You know what,” Sam said, “when we get back, I’ll get that set up for you, too. Might have some downtime before we head into Hell.”

“What?” four selkies asked.

“Um—”

Before Sam could explain or deflect, one of the _dobthar-chú_ silently slipped up behind the three hunters and started sniffing at Dean.

 _“Jaysus_ , Bhean—” Ballo sighed.

“No, um, it’s fine, man,” Dean said.

He tentatively reached a hand out to the beast’s wide maw. It pushed its snout into his hand and vibrated with that noise that rumbled straight through Dean’s chest.

“Well, lookit that,” Bris remarked.

With far less noise than a creature of that size had any business not making, Bhean flopped down behind the four of them, Sam, Bris, Dean, and Cas, practically asking them to lean against her like a couch.

“Well then.” Bris snuggled into her happily.

The three hunters leaned back more hesitantly, but quickly found the intensely thick, warm fur as intoxicating as their beer.

“This is very nice,” Cas said, patting the large forelimb stretched out next to him. He turned to Inas sitting beside him on a log, “You know, these rivers have a terrible problem with Asian Carp, perhaps these creatures could be trained to hunt them.”

“Ye know, it _has_ been a stretch gettin’ 'em enough to eat,” Inas said, a hand on their chin, “ye might be onto somethin’ there…”

As Cas and Inas fell into discussion, Bris leaned around Sam and grinned at Dean.

“So you gonna ride one now, or—”

“Fuck no.”

Ballo barked with his booming laugh and beamed at them all. “Oh, jus’ look at you, lookit the lot of us. Fuckin’ hell, it does my heart good to see us like this again.” He smiled warmly at them all, then addressed Sam, “You’ve done so much for us, how can we ever repay you?”

“No, no, don’t worry about it," he answered, and squeezed Bris’s hand. She turned and smiled at him. “I think we’re even.”

“Ugh. Retch,” Dean balked as he stood up. “Alright, I’m ready to head out.”

Sam rolled his eyes but also stood to begin the goodbyes, shaking hands and trading hugs. Direl came up and clapped Sam on the back.

“Now, look, boyo, I know you’re all glad-eyed now,” he said, “but you watch out for this lass, she’s got a hell of a temper on her.”

“Shut _up,_  ye maggot!” Bris smiled, cuffing him. She turned back to the others.

Direl caught Sam’s eye with a smile and a look that said, _No, really._

Sam laughed him off and took Bris’s hand, following Cas and Dean as they headed back to the cars, with Direl watching them go.

The other selkies shouted their goodbyes to Cas as they walked away, waving and hollering as they passed. Cas ducked his head, and may have been trying to hide behind Dean. And Dean may have let him, may have even stood just a little bit straighter, held his arms out just a little bit wider, to try to make himself just that much bigger of a shield.

Then Bris stopped at the edge of the group, her hand slipping from Sam's. He turned back to her, “What’s wrong?”

“Well... I, ah...”

Her eyes darted, looking at the ground, almost like she was… nervous.

“See I— didn’t actually ask... Am I…? Are you…?”

Sam shook his head, “Am I what?”

“Well we’ve only just…” she trailed off, running her thumb over his hand, “And you’ve got a— a big thing goin’ on what sounds like, and— You know I’d understand if...”

Sam smiled. He pulled her close, brushing her hair back and saying low into her ear, “What are you dancing around, Bris?”

She laughed and leaned into him, tugging on his hand. “God, you’re a right bastard, you know that?” And with a wide smile and sparkling eyes she looked up at him and asked, “Didja really want me to come with you?”

The idea that she wouldn’t was so far from Sam’s mind that he and the necklace were shocked into silence for a moment. “What— Of course— Unless you didn’t want to—”

She squeaked in delight and hugged him tight, “Gimme two shakes of my tail an’ I’ll be right back!” She gave him a quick kiss and darted back to the camp.

She ran up behind Inas and enveloped them in a hug. They whooped in surprise.

“Is this my goodbye in the wind?” they asked, turning around.

“Well I’m right here, so…” She laughed and pulled Inas into another hug. “Goodbye, Inas.”

Inas smiled into her shoulder, “‘Bye, lass, don’t be a stranger now, you hear?”

“Aye, I hear.” She pulled away from Inas with a bittersweet smile. As she jogged back to Sam she turned and waved at everyone, “G’bye, you sorry bastards!”

Raucous shouts followed her back as she rejoined Sam and took his hand. They followed Cas and Dean up out of the woods and back to the gravel road.

They were just about to reach the cars when a shout came from behind them, “Hey! Wait!”

They turned to see Direl running after them. He caught up with them and dropped his hands to his knees, huffing for breath.

“What’s up, Direl?” Sam asked.

“Could you— could I—? You lot are headin’ to Rhode Island, right? That’s one o’ the one’s out east, yeah?”

“We are. And yes, it’s right on the coast—”

“Deadly!” He popped back up. “Could I hitch a ride?”

“What?” Dean balked.

“I’d love to see some other parts of this big ol’ place. Hardly never left the Isle before we gots caught and now I’m here and—”

“Can’t you find another ride?” Dean groaned. Sam elbowed him.

“Please? Do me a solid and I’ll owe ya—”

“No,” Dean jabbed a finger in Direl’s face, “I’m _done_ with favors, you come for free or not at all!” His face slowly fell, “Wait—”

“Savage! Thanks, mate!” Direl ran over to the cars. Cas watched him with narrowed eyes.

“Goddamn it.”

Bris smiled at the Impala, “Gonna be a bit cramped, yeah?”

Dean groaned into his hand. “Maybe we should take two cars.”

“We’ll be fine, Dean—” Sam started.

“Let me rephrase that.” Dean pointed at Sam and Bris’s hands clasped together. “We’re taking two cars and _you’re_ taking Direl.”

“Alright, fine,” Sam held up his free palm in surrender.

Dean faltered. Then he looked between the two of them, softer. “But you know... maybe we don’t need to leave _right_ away.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve already got the keys, why don’t we meet back at the motel later?”

“We should make sure that we got everything out of the room,” Cas added, “and we should probably also destroy the room the witch trapped us in this morning.”

Sam broke into a smile. “Thanks, guys.” He tugged on Bris’s hand and they headed for the Impala.

“Just don’t—” Dean called after them, looking up at Sam with pleading eyes. “Treat her right, okay?”

Sam looked back as he walked, knowing he wasn’t talking about Bris. “She’ll be fine, Dean.”

He and Bris got into the car and Sam turned the motor over.

“One scratch on the leather, I swear, Sammy!”

Sam waved out the window, and turned her around in the narrow road ever-so-gingerly.

But Dean saw him turn to Bris, saw him grinning far too wide, and he heard the [radio crank](https://open.spotify.com/track/4CweTlvTQyGt8T2vrt149a?si=WcDwBv87QQmZUrd_SNF7FA) and the engine rev but he didn’t have time to stop him before—

Sam floored it and peeled off down the road in a cloud of flying gravel, Bris’s surprised, laughing shouts trailing behind.

 _“Sam!"_   Dean bellowed after them. Cas stepped up and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Goddamnit— _Bitch!”_

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Parked down another little road, beneath a highway bridge crossing the river, the Impala sat stoically, subtly quaking with lascivious motion.

Two names and two names only were shouted into the shadows, the names of the occupants inside.

The radio drifted over them as they held each other close, reveling together in their shared heat:

 

 _“..._ _A thousand pictures in my mi-ind,_

_In a painting of the past,_

_I'm brushin' over li-ines,_

_And I'll paint them all again...”_

 

Sam pushed himself up to look into Bris’s eyes, now scrunched tight with a smile.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

 _"Ach,_  quit it, you, ye already got laid.”

“I mean it,” he kissed her cheek. “You’re just—” he kissed her jaw, “you’re _stunning—_ ” he kissed her neck, “and sexy—”

“Look at you talkin’, Mr. Hotrod Car and beefcake ‘til Tuesday!”

Sam smiled but furrowed his brow, “Beefcake ‘til…?”

 _"These_ ye great lug!” She grabbed his bicep and laughed.

Her laugh sent his stomach doing backflips and he couldn't have stopped his smile if he wanted to. He slipped his arms beneath her and sat up with her, pulling her into his lap where he kissed her long and deep.

“God I’m so glad I didn’t scare you off,” Sam said against her lips.

“Nah... just needed a swift kick in the arse.”

Sam chuffed through a smile, “Oh is that all? So all that God-talk didn't freak you out after all?”

“Fuck!” Bris barked in a harsh laugh, “It's got me right terrified!” She hugged Sam closer, “Lord above, I have so many questions for you. All the things you’ve seen...”

“I can already tell you I don't have all the answers.”

“I don't much care, Sam,” she said as she curled into his chest. “Don't much care at all. Just wanna slog through it all together.”

The song on the radio became suddenly clear, the instruments dropping down and the lyrics pealing out:

 

_“...And aren't we bright,_

_In the candlelight?_

_I will cradle all these memories,_

_'Til the end,”_

 

Bris closed her eyes as the song crescendoed again.

“Jus’ wanna give it a shot.”

 

_“And she said:_

_Lay me down in golden dandelions,_

_'Cause I've been waiting for this moment, all my life!_

_Follow me into the dark,_

_Oo-oo, oo-ooo-oo,_

_She said: Lay me down in golden dandelions,_

_'Cause I've been waitin’,_

_Yeah, I've been waitin’,_

_'Cause, I've been wai-ai-aitin’”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Move Like U Stole It - ZZ Ward}  
> I want you in my bed in a minute flat,  
> Let’s hit the backseat of your cherry Cadillac,  
> I bet you never guessed, or came prepared for this,  
> I like your bowtie, the glasses on your eyes,  
> You better push that gear down to the fifth,  
> And hit that gas pedal with a heavy a kick,  
> I wanna feel the heat, your tires grip that street,  
> I like your straight A style, can’t wait another mile,
> 
> Whoa, the world ain’t ending but it might as well be,  
> Whoa, I’ll rock you like the sea,  
> Buildings ain’t crumbling but they might as well be,  
> Whoa, so let’s not think and just  
> Move like you stole it,  
> Move, hurry,  
> Move like you stole it, make your move on me,
> 
> I see your hands start trembling when I touch you there,  
> I watch your jaw drop open with an eager stare,  
> I’ll be your dream tonight, your wish has come to life,  
> Don’t wanna change my mind, so don’t you take your time,
> 
> Whoa, the world ain’t ending but it might as well be,  
> Whoa, I’ll rock you like the sea,  
> Buildings ain’t crumbling but they might as well be,  
> Whoa, so let’s not think and just  
> Move like you stole it,  
> Move, hurry, move like you stole it,  
> Make your move on me,
> 
> You better do it like it’s twenty five to life,  
> Two steps from the yard, one man behind bars,  
> Move on, move on, move on me,  
> Better get your move on like you stole something,  
> You better do it like the sky just caught on fire,  
> Take me in your arms, ring the alarm,  
> Move on, move on, move on me,  
> Better get your move on like you stole something,
> 
> Whoa, the world ain’t ending but it might as well be,  
> Whoa, I’ll rock you like the sea,  
> Buildings ain’t crumbling but they might as well be,  
> Whoa, so let’s not think and just  
> Move like you stole it,  
> Move, hurry,  
> Move like you stole it,  
> Make your move on me,  
> Move like you stole it,  
> Make your move on me,  
> Make your move on me
> 
>  
> 
> {Golden Dandelions - Barns Courtney} This song has single-handedly gotten me through writing this piece, the happy song to push me through the sad. :)
> 
> She came to me in robes of white,  
> In the corner of my room,  
> A specter of the night,  
> Silhouetted by the moon,  
> We're floating fast over traffic lights,  
> Bearin' down on blackened sky,  
> Colors burst as I close my eyes,  
> Ooh-ooh, and she said:
> 
> Lay me down in golden dandelions,  
> 'Cause I've been waiting for this moment all my life,  
> Follow me into the dark,  
> Ooh-ooh,  
> She said lay me down in golden dandelions,  
> 'Cause I've been waitin',
> 
> A thousand pictures in my mind,  
> In a painting of the past,  
> I'm brushing over lines,  
> And I'll paint them all again,  
> We're floating fast over traffic lights,  
> Bearin' down on blackened skies,  
> Colors burst as I close my eyes,  
> Ooh-ooh, and she said:
> 
> Lay me down in golden dandelions,  
> 'Cause I've been waiting for this moment all my life,  
> Follow me into the dark,  
> Ooh-ooh,  
> She said lay me down in golden dandelions,  
> 'Cause I've been waitin',  
> 'Cause I've been waitin',
> 
> And aren't we bright,  
> In the candlelight?  
> I will cradle all these memories,  
> 'Til the end,
> 
> And she said:  
> Lay me down in golden dandelions,  
> 'Cause I've been waiting for this moment, all my life,  
> Follow me into the dark,  
> Ooh-ooh,  
> She said: lay me down in golden dandelions,  
> 'Cause I've been waitin',  
> Yeah, I've been waitin',  
> 'Cause, I've been waitin',


	12. Epilogue

Things were going great.

They had the Blood of a Holy Man and the Fruit from the Tree of Life.

Ketch was almost finished with the paperwork for the selkies who wanted to go home.

Bris was here with him in the bunker, and Dean and Cas were even getting along better.

And now… Now he had a new success. The Legacy members of Capitulum Seven had been happy to give them the Seal of Solomon after they'd taken care of their inter-dimensional tentacle-monster problem. _Yeah..._ Cas and Bris had said, _that’s not a woman._

So now, a week after the selkies had killed the witch, Sam was at the kitchen island with Cas, holding the Seal in one hand and his second— and final— beer for the night in the other.

“Starting to feel too good to be true, Cas,” Sam said.

“You shouldn’t say things like that. You know personally that Fate is not to be tempted.”

Sam chuffed. “Yeah, you’re right.” He set the Seal on the countertop. “Shit’s just been going so great you know? This whole last week... I mean, I wish Dean wasn’t on pins and needles around me, but even he’s been almost cheerful.”

Cas frowned at his beer. “Sure. Cheerful.”

“I mean, comparatively, anyway.”

Cas raised an eyebrow, “Compared to what?”

“I mean…” Sam considered how blunt he should be with Cas. He and Dean were a couple of idiots, that much he was pretty sure of, but they were a couple of easily-spooked idiots, so he decided to approach this cautiously, from around the back. “I kinda told you, Cas, he was… he wasn’t okay while you were gone. While you were dead.”

Cas grasped his bottle with both hands, still frowning, “He seemed perfectly fine when I came back.”

“Cas, look, Dean was an absolute— Dean was _drinking,_  and on a _fuse,_ and— Jesus, Cas, just that ghost job we had… “

Sam saw guilt and hope uncomfortably mingling on Cas’s face. “What ghost job?” he asked softly.

“Well, these kids went missing," Sam answered willingly, "and it ended up just being this crazy ghost of a doctor, but at first we couldn’t find it, so Dean went and decided we needed to use that temporary-death trick we do—”

“Use the _what?”_

"The death trick," Sam had to repeat. He winced. “Sorry, have we not told you about that?”

_“No!”_

“Okay, well, remind me to tell you later,” Sam said quickly and took a sip of his beer. “Anyway— Cas— Dean _fell_ on that needle, no hesitation. And then he didn't come back on time. And I thought… I thought he was gone. I thought he wasn't coming back this time.”

Cas slowly shook his head, *No…*

“But then, Cas, man, that same damn night, you called. You called and we drove _hours_ in silence. Complete silence. I mean, it could have been a trick or something. God, if it was a trick… I don't think Dean could have survived that.

“But you came back! You came back, and Dean wanted to hop on a weak case, wanted to take us all to Dodge City to indulge in his crazy cowboy obsession, and he got the biggest suite and he ordered us that whole steak dinner and just _everything_ since then… Damn, Cas, he's just so happy since you came back.”

Cas began to smile through the guilt still clouding his face.

But Sam couldn’t stop there, he felt like he needed to add something, to keep talking, to assure Cas...

“And Dean is better, but I'm glad you're back, too! I have my best friend, my other brother back, but god... I almost lost both of you. _Again."_   Sam's fist clenched on his thigh.

Cas reached out, but didn't quite place his hand on Sam's shoulder. “Sam…”

“I'm so glad you're back,” Sam found himself repeating, needing Cas to understand, "Dean's so happy now, and I... I missed you too, but—” If he said it again maybe Cas would understand. “But I still feel so… so lost, Cas... but I swear, I care about you too...” If he said it again, maybe he would understand it himself. “I mean, we have _you_ back, we have almost all the spell ingredients, I’ve even got Bris here now, but I still… I just can’t…”

Something opened. Just a crack.

“I swear I care about you, too, Dean’s not the only one who’s happy, I care, too! You’re my brother, too!”

Something was opening. Sam tried to push against it, but it wouldn't close—

“You're my brother and my friend, too, and Dean is fine now but where’s Mom? Where’s Jack?”

Things were tumbling out, things were falling away—

“How can Dean be so _okay_ now but I'm still so… I can’t… I can’t just be happy with it...”

Things were falling away and things were opening— The kitchen was fading and the darkness was edging in—

“I'm glad you're back, too— Everything’s going so well— Why am I still not okay?”

Things were opening— Bursting—

“Why am I still not—”

He needed to stop— _Breathe,_ _breathe!_ —but there was so much— _Palm_ —so much— _Press your palm_

“Why am I not okay?" Heat— "What's wrong with me?” Heat— and pain— “What’s wrong with me? _What more can be wrong with me!?”_ Hot metal— Tearing—  _"There's so much wrong with me— I'm just a monster— I've always been a monster—” Shredding— Flaying— Fire— Red light laced with blue— A face—_

_A face_

_That face_

_Eyes. Red eyes_

_Him— He's never gone—_ **_I'm never gone Sam  “_ ** _No! No! Please, no!”_

———

“Sam! _Sam!"_  Cas finally shot out and grabbed Sam's shoulders. _“Sam!”_

He needed help. He was losing Sam. Was this the curse— the necklace? A spell?

Sam was screaming, he was screaming and thrashing, he slipped off the stool and Cas just barely held onto him as they collapsed to the floor.

“Dean! _Dean!"_   Where was Dean? Was he even here? Cas fumbled for his phone, still shaking Sam, trying to snap him out of it.

They hadn't run into any other curses lately. Just that witch, days ago. But she was dead. Her spells had vanished upon her death, even if the injuries remained. They had seen that in the room when they went to destroy it. Was this something residual? Something—?

Wait.

Was this—?

But he had taken Sam's memories. He had taken it— taken it all— taken the pain... He had spent all that time _..._

Cas wasn't sure when he'd dialed, or if he'd dialed, but there was Dean. He burst through the doorway, “Sam? _Sam!"_  and fell to his knees next to them, replacing his hands where Cas pulled away, allowing Dean to take over. Bris wasn’t far behind him, she froze in the doorway.

Sam continued to scream, curling in on himself. Dean snapped to Cas, _“What's happening?”_

“I don't know! I don't know, Dean! This shouldn't be happening!”

 _“What_ shouldn't be happening? Talk to me, Cas!”

“I think he's having flashbacks! Hell flashbacks— Or a spell— But- But I took his memories! I took his pain! I did, Dean, I swear!” Cas was painted with remorse and pleading and confusion—

Sam screamed harder, clutching his head—

 _“Put him to sleep!”_ Dean bellowed, _“Knock him out, Cas!”_

Cas's fingers shot forward and immediately Sam was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello... friends...  
> Are we still friends after this? 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for reading Part Three. This piece has taken over the last month and a half of my life and I am so happy to finally put it out into the world!  
> As per my typical end-of-piece request, if you liked this (and by some miracle don't absolutely hate my guts) please share it! It is my only wish for as many people to see this as possible. 
> 
> So, obviously there will be a next part, Part Four: Safari Song. Between then and now I have two ficlets planned, so hit that Subscribe to Series button if you haven't already. Alternatively, you can subscribe to me as an author and get notifications about anything I post.  
> PSA: If you "Subscribe" here, on this fic, you will only get updates on THIS FIC, not updates from the series or me. So you want to click on the link to the series or the link to my author page and subscribe THERE.
> 
> Thank you for joining me in this crazy series, I hope I haven't broken your hearts too bad and will see you again soon! :)


	13. More Art!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that? Another wonderful Bris piece!

.

UnfortunatelyObsessed is at it again with some fabulous art!

 

(Check out those sneaky little Claire-braids hiding in there, and the angel blade! And the _style_ and I just... I just can't tell you all how much I love this.)

This piece is a little coda to [this series of art.](https://sassysousa.tumblr.com/post/175253794374/crackattack-i-saw-an-ad-for-active-wear-and-i) (Or at least, that's how I would describe it.) Honestly that there is my favorite fan-art right now. I just can't get enough.


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